


SpongeBob BadAss

by Skillet_Writer



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants - Fandom
Genre: Bullying, Complicated Relationships, Confusing relationships, Depression, Drama, F/M, Flashbacks, Flirting, Gay SpongeBob, Gen, Grinding, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Multiple headcanons, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character(s), Randomness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sassy SpongeBob, Sexual Content, Spandy - Freeform, SpongeBob is a jerk, Spying, SquidBob, Unrequited Crush, bipolar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skillet_Writer/pseuds/Skillet_Writer
Summary: Boy, those Krabby fumes must've gotten to your head!ORHe was weak. Everybody knew SpongeBob was weak. He was just a kid, just a Goofy Goober. Encompassed within his being was a thin layer between lionhearted workman and spineless milksop. He'd let the world see him at his worst, but ever since Mr. Krabs recrudesced the whole employee of the month ballyhoo, he had been inspired to position himself in a different light.
Relationships: Karen/Sheldon J. Plankton (SpongeBob), Sandy Cheeks/SpongeBob SquarePants, SpongeBob SquarePants/Patrick Star, SpongeBob SquarePants/Squidward Tentacles
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	1. High and Mighty

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, AO3! I’ve had a Fanfiction account for quite some time now, and have been inspired to exhibit some of my works here. It seems like feedback is more frequent on this website, and a bit more customization is possible regarding stories. —I’m just excited to be here, and excited to see what you guys have to think. I’m Skillet-Writer on Fanfiction.net, so you may or may not recognize some of the stories I’ll be posting. Thanks for dropping by! Man, the copy-and-paste formatting process on mobile is a real pain in the patootie. xD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1/5/2020) Edit: It has been brought to my attention that ”himming and hauling” is not a phrase that means breaking your back over something, or working really hard. In fact, it’s just the opposite. Also, it’s spelled “humming and hawing”. 
> 
> I feel stupid.
> 
> I’m not changing the text, though.

**~Chapter 1: High and Mighty~**

* * *

SpongeBob smiled down at Plankton, twirling his spatula around his finger, an impish look about him. It had been employee of the month nomination day again, and, not unexpectedly, SpongeBob had been chosen to have his large, bucktooth smile mounted upon the wall for all to see. Mr. Krabs' constant praise towards his hard work and willingness to "accept below minimum wage" only fueled his pride. Now, here he was, staring down at his boss' arch nemesis, ex-best friend, and business rival, about to perform some more heroic acts of fast food-manship.

"So, Plankton, you derisory little _scum_ ," he spat. "You microscopic little _ignominy_."

Plankton's eye widened. "W-woah there, kid, chill it with the insults. Where did you even acquire such profound vocabulary?"

SpongeBob bit his lip. A large book protruded from his back pocket. "Oh, nowhere important. Now, where was I?" He snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah, back to squashing you like the error you are."

"Erruh?" Plankton repeated in that cute, little accent of his.

"Yeah, that's what I said, Mr. Know-it-all. I said error. _Error_ ," he repeated, enunciating each syllable. "You know, the synonym for bug. Are you stupid? Maybe a little offended?" He chuckled, inching closer towards his prey.

"Hey, wait!" Plankton screamed, noticing the frycook begin to raise his foot. "You're the stupid one, Sponge _Boob!_ Error refers to a _computer_ bug."

He raised his foot higher, rolling his ankle threateningly. "Well, you're married to a computer."

Plankton was speechless for a few seconds. SpongeBob had wit. He had wit, and, during that short-lived conversation, an oddly above-average vocabulary. It was unusual. Usually the yellow nuisance didn't pose much of a threat. He was Krabs' little henchman, but he was just a kid. The only way Plankton knew him to be remotely threatening was simply how much larger he was than a microorganism like himself. A derisory little scum.

_*Squish!*_

"Welp, that takes care of that," SpongeBob said, brushing his hands on his pants triumphantly. "Mr. Krabs, come see your favorite employee's _glorious_ work!"

From under his shoe came a weak voice. "It's _deleterious_ ," Plankton groaned. (Look it up, it's supposed to be funny.)

* * *

SpongeBob usually fell under the category of earnest or humble, but not since this money-grabbing employee of the month hype.

"Mr. Krabs, can I work the night shift?" he'd say.

"Fer no extra pay?" a skeptical Mr. Krabs would reply.

"Barnacles, yes!" was the answer he got. That's what his penny-pinching ears liked to hear.

The boy would stay after late and subtly shame Squidward for leaving work at the normal closing hour. "Going so soon?" It came across as mocking, and it probably was. He didn't get the same respect from his co-worker that he got from his boss, and he slowly developed the confidence to confront Squidward.

Squidward was and always had been fed up with SpongeBob's nonsense. It was one thing to endure an annoying, naive SpongeBob, but it was a whole 'nother to suffer an annoying, arrogant SpongeBob. The octopus' blue blood boiled every day. _Who the barnacles does he think he is?_ he'd think to himself. _He worships Krabs like a god, and he steps on Plankton like the guy's a roach._ (Nah, Squidward, he's a derisory little scum.)

On this particular night, Mr. SquarePants was working the night shift. He sat in his boss' comfortable chair, his feet kicked up like he owned the place. He was a hard worker, but he wasn't doing work. No one wanted a Krabby Patty at three in the morning, and he knew it very well. But he also knew how good this looked on his record. How good his face looked upon the wall…

Just as he had begun to doze off, a sliver of light caught his eye. He sprung up shakily from his seat, wielding his spatula like a sword. "Stand back!" he shouted. He squinted his eyes but could not see who or what the culprit was. "I'm warning you." His voice wavered a bit, causing some fury to rise up within him. He was not going to let whoever was out there know how scared he truly was. Not on his watch.

He tip-toed towards the door, his heart beating out of his chest. The lights were off. It was so dark outside, with only the moonlight to guide his steps. The glow from the door was taunting him, calling his name. "SpongeBob!" it hissed. He gasped and dropped his spatula. "Neptune," he cursed.

"G-go away," SpongeBob said, his voice cracking. Tears formed at his eyes. Whatever it was was still there, at the door, its shadow now cast upon the wall. The door was opened wider now. The golden glow of the dining room began to light up the office. "No, no, no, no, no…" It was all he could manage.

He was weak. Everybody knew SpongeBob was weak. He was just a kid, just a Goofy Goober. Encompassed within his being was a thin layer between lionhearted workman and spineless milksop. He'd let the world see him at his worst, but ever since Mr. Krabs recrudesced the whole employee of the month ballyhoo, he had been inspired to position himself in a different light.

"Whatcha' up to kid?"

SpongeBob's heart skipped. He knew that voice. Looking down, he hissed, "Plankton?"

"Yeah, it's me. Why are you here?"

SpongeBob got his bearings and placed his hands on his hips, feeling a rush of adrenaline. "I should be asking you the same!" He reached down to pick up his spatula, before thrusting it out at the tiny creature. "You have no right to be here. Go home."

Plankton chuckled, shutting the door behind him and walking toward the frycook's direction. " _Robert_ , listen-"

"Don't call me that."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He crawled up onto the desk and watched SpongeBob take a seat in his boss' chair, arms crossed and spatula fitted nicely through a belt loop in his pants. "Look, kid. I'm not supposed to be here, but you know that already."

SpongeBob looked unamused.

"And this time, it's actually not about the formula."

SpongeBob clasped his hands together, his spatula once again clattering to the floor. "That's hysterical, Plankton!" he laughed, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "That's rich."

"I'm serious, kid."

"Yeah, and I'm a circle. -No, better! A triangle!"

Plankton clenched his jaw, his temple throbbing. The sponge's laughter pierced his ears. Even the tone of his laugh was different. It was… bitter. It was unbearable, it really was, which is why Plankton was determined to get him off of his high seahorse and back down to the pink-collar employee he was.

"You're full of yourself, SpongeBob."

"Well, I am absorbent."

Plankton sat down in the middle of the desk, implying he'd be there a while. "You're so caught up in your work. There's a life outside of fast food, you know!"

"You're one to talk."

Darn his quick wit. "That… may be humiliatingly true and you might have some repartee in your britches, but look, buddy." He breathed in sharply. "You need to stop."

SpongeBob sat up, his shoulders at his sides. His eyebrows were slanted in opposite directions. For lack of a more sophisticated term, and just because [the author] can, he. looked. _pissed_.

"I think you need to get out!" came the shrill tone. He picked his spatula up off of the floor and gripped it tightly.

Plankton had to admit, an angry SpongeBob was pretty threatening, but if you could see through his skin, you would see a different person. A meeker person. The tiny creature got up from his place in the center of the table and stood his ground.

"I could squash you with a single swat, you know that?" His big blue eyes darted back and forth, scanning for a sign of fear, just a hint of alarm. Absolutely none. "Are you listening to me, Plankton?" His tone was louder, more angry now.

Plankton shrugged. "I can hear you, SpongeBob," he said, his voice hushed. "I can hear the voice of a young adult who has nothing to look forward to in life." The sponge's shocked snarl did not deter him. "This young adult works a dead-end job with no hopes of being recognized outside of it. He's got talent and wit and a big smile, and he'd love for it to go places. What brings him joy is bringing others joy, but he gets little more than 'Mmm, this tastes great!'. This creature doesn't crave fame, he craves appreciation, so when he is presented with an opportunity to shine, he just can't let it down. It gets to him."

SpongeBob was whimpering now, squeezing his spatula, his face red. _Don't listen to him Sponge,_ he thought. _He's the enemy._

"This young adult," Plankton sighed, "is led astray by the promises of a money-hungry bastard. He sees this person as a father-figure, he's too naive to notice. His coworker, he loves, but, uh, he don't love him back, hehe. He wants to show everyone how amazing he really is! He does these awesome things, but he's missing the issue. He's taking the joy from everybody else. He's conceited. This poor, weak fool tries to act like he knows it all, but really, he don't know sh-"

"Hey!" SpongeBob snapped, baring his teeth like a wild animal, made a bit comical by the way his two front teeth stuck out. "You can take your captains quarters and high-tail it outta here right now, Mister!"

He chuckled. "Wait, c'mon, SpongeBob. It was merely a simple metaphor to show you how much of a jackass you're being!"

"Get the barnacles out of here!"

"What, cursing offends you?"

"No, you do."

(Well, _daaang_.)

Fighting with a large, yellow finger, he said, "Hm, can't handle the truth, huh? Well, perhaps if you heard from someone who's close to you, maybe you'd heed my words." He whipped out a tape recorder.

SpongeBob raised a non-existent eyebrow, his curiosity betraying him. "Oh, really?"

"Really."

"Sit down, then," SpongeBob sighed. Though he wouldn't admit it, he had been pretty much defeated. Plankton had him intrigued and he was getting kinda bored anyway. It's not like the whole restaurant would catch on fire if he laid his head down for a second, but delusional Squidward had drilled that idea into his head, so he wasn't taking any chances. ("Squid's Day Off" reference!) If listening to Plankton and his nonsense kept him awake, perhaps he would listen. _Just this once,_ he thought, _will I consider the words of the enemy._

So SpongeBob listened. He listened to a sullen and disturbed voice, a voice he recognized immediately. The words that came through the tape were heartbreaking:

_"Is it on, Plankton?"_

_"Hold on, fool, I'm fixing it."_

_"Get the stupid thing working!"_

_"For the love of Neptune, I'm tr- Oh! It's on. Tell the tape recorder what you wanna say to SpongeBob."_

_"I… uh, magic box, I just wanna say that I miss hanging out with SpongeBob all the time. Oh, SpongeBob, you always seem super busy with work, and I get that, but we're best pals. You're so worried about work, anymore! You're my best friend, who else am I supposed to hang out with? Squidward? He's a jerk, and lately you've been acting just like him. I think being around him all the time is doing something to your head. And believe me, I know a lot about, uhhh…"_

_"Snap out of it!"_

_"...mental disorders! SpongeBob, you're the smartest guy I know. You really are! But you've been so distant lately, and it hurts. If I lose your friendship, I don't know how I'm gonna get around. You're always by my side, always helping me through my stupid moments. You're the only one who gets me. But right now, I don't get you. But… OH, I LOVE YOU, SPONGEBOB!"_

_"Shhh, settle down."_

_"No, I love him! He's my friend, Plankton, I can't handle this."_

_"Quiet, you big oaf...Look, I know. I get it, you're upset. But remember, SpongeBob is going to hear this. Don't embarrass yourself, kid."_

_"I'm sorry, I just… I think… SpongeBob doesn't LOVE me anymore!"_

_"That won't be the case if I can help it, Patrick. SpongeBob is an emotional little shit, so he'll-"_

"Ahem!" Plankton screamed awkwardly. "Pay no attention to that last part."

SpongeBob crossed his arms. For all he knew, that recording could have been staged. He breathed in sharply. The tape tugged at his heart strings, sure, but Neptune-damnit!, he was NOT going to be made to feel guilty. No, he wasn't a softie anymore. _I've changed._

"Sorry, Plankton, but I have other priorities nowadays, and so do you. So quit pestering my friends and get back to your sorry life of crime. I've heard enough of your bullshrimp for one night." He got up and stretched, yawning loudly.

Plankton jaw dropped. "S-s-so you're just gonna _disregard_ everything you just heard? A-are you kidding me? Those were the words of your _best friend_ ," he strained, his hands violently pulling at the antennae perched on top of his head.

"Don't get yourself so worked up, Plankton. You're the enemy. You're testing your luck simply by being here. I don't know why in the ocean you care so much about my own personal issues, but it's a little weird, don't you think?"

"Weird?"

"Yeah, with you being the enemy and all. There must be some sort of motive. Maybe a… secret formula?"

Plankton went bug-eyed for a second or two.

_Oh, crap._

"No, kid, I…" Plankton sighed. "Look, I'm just trying to get you to keep your friendships. Eugene and I were best friends until that formula tore us apart. Look at us now, arch nemeses."

"Yeah, you're his NEMESIS, Plankton! So get the heck out! You've overstayed your _un_ -welcome." He raised his spatula above his head with a surprising quickness. "You're an INTRUDER!"

_*Splat!*_

* * *

"I don't get it, Karen," Plankton said, swinging open the door of the Chum Bucket.

His wife stared back at him with a blank monitor. She would have rolled her tired eyes, if she had them. Karen loved Plankton, or at least, she was programmed to, but she often felt as if she was just her husband's therapist. Sometimes she felt as if her only purpose was to listen to Plankton, attend to his household chores, and to er… satisfy his more _intimate_ desires. Every day, he came in with a new problem for her to process.

"Oh, not this again, Sheldon," she huffed. "It's so late. It's something like four in the morning! Didn't you come in yesterday ranting about the SpongeBob?" She rolled around the laboratory, dusting the cobwebs from the corner of the ceiling.

"Indeed, I did." Plankton entered the lab, his antennae drooping at his side. "I told you, I'm trying to get the stupid kid to step down from his prideful stance and engage that naivety once again. It's crucial for my stealing the formula."

"See, that's your problem, Plankton! You think he's unintelligent. 'Engage [his] naivety'. Do you hear yourself? He's not naive anymore! He's matured, he's grown smarter."

"Yes, but he's still SpongeBob! I'm sure there's away to work around his arrogance."

"You need to use his newfound sense of maturity to your advantage." Karen thought for a moment. She was a computer, a useful aid in Plankton's life. She was a smart machine that could be programmed and used to his advantage. All Plankton needed to successfully steal the Krabby Patty secret formula was a body that could be manipulated and taught. "SpongeBob is your tool," she finally said.

Plankton climbed up onto a table, to get a better look at his wife. This idea of her's… it wasn't half bad. Usually Plankton would consciously/unconsciously take credit or inspiration for/from his wife's ideas, but he had to admit, this was an interesting concept. "Use SpongeBob as a tool, you say?"

"Yes."

"Clever, Karen. You're a smart woman."

She scooped him up and allowed him to kiss her. It wasn't very often anymore that she got genuine compliments from her husband.

"Oh, Sheldon, I-" He shut her up with another kiss, and she swooned. "Oh, you're such a man when you're not obsessing over that formula. I wish you spent more time obsessing over me." The words fell from her mouth without restraint.

"Karen, I may spend all day coveting a piece of paper in a bottle, but baby, I'll spend all night copulating with you and going to town on that outlet of yours."

"Sheldon!" she gasped. "Oh, my. Y-you wanna take this to the bedroom?"

"Hell, yeah. Anything to take my mind off of SpongeBob and his antics. Good lord, he's a walking headache."

"Well, so are you!"

"Yeah, but I'm a sexy, walking headache."

Karen couldn't argue with that.

* * *

SpongeBob awoke to a knock on the door, and his eyes opened slowly. He had had enough nonsense and mind games for one morning. "Go away, Plankton," he mumbled. "Didn't I tell you to go home like an hour or somethin' ago?" He yawned. "I know you're only here for Mr. Krabs' formula."

"Indeed, I am here for the formula," the muffled voice became clear as day as the door swung open.

"Mr. Krabs!" he exclaimed, half-falling out of the seat.

"'Cause it's _my_ formula, boy-o, now what's all this I'm hearin' about Plankton and his shenan _er_ gans?" He approached SpongeBob, who was looking disheveled as all get out. "He came by last night?"

"This morning, sir," he replied, sitting up straight in the chair as best he could. "Early."

"He didn't make off with the formula, did he?"

"Aw, hell no! Pshhh." He waved his hand. "I get Employee of the Month for the fifth month in a row this year and you think I would let a roach like Plankton get away? C'mon, Eugene."

"SpongeBob, I don't know who ye think you are, but ye can't be talkin' to me like I'm yer buddy or somethin'. I'm yer boss, and ye owe me some respect. Ye yerself know it better than anyone."

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir."

"Good. Don't get too chummy with me, boy." He patted the arm of his chair. "Up, up."

SpongeBob slid out of the chair, plopping onto the ground in a drowsy mess. Working the night shift always drained him. He could count on his hands how many times fish had actually come down to the Krusty Krab for a meal past one in the morning. Despite the small numbers, he never felt as though he could truly rest, as that's how recipes get stolen and kids vandalize property. He craved sleep, but there was a price to be paid when you put yourself out there as a hard and willing worker.

The sponge struggled to stand up, his legs wobbling like thin pieces of jello. He held his aching head in his hands, massaging his temples with his thumbs. The thought of having to work for the next 12+ hours caught up with him, and he screamed.

Mr. Krabs took his rightful place back at his seat. "Come here, me boy," he said, his arms outstretched. He pulled SpongeBob in for a warm hug. Krabs loved SpongeBob, and loved his work ethic even more. Oh, how he wished Squidward were more like SpongeBob! So light-hearted, so polite, so hard-working. It hurt him to see the boy cry. SpongeBob was like a son to him.

"Boy, I think yer just trying to impress," he finally said. He broke the hug and picked up the young man, positioning him to stand behind the office desk.

SpongeBob looked up, wiping the tears from his ocular organs (or _eyes_ , for those who are less intellectually inclined. ;D) His shoulders fell and his arms drooped at his sides. "To… impress?"

He nodded. "I appreciate yer diligence and willingness to work overtime, but, as much as I hate to say this and as much as I hate to lose potential profit, you and I both know that ain't _nobody_ is stopping by the Krusty Krab for a meal past one in the morning. 'Cept for a certain derisory, little scum. Speaking of which, tell me, boy, what is it he wanted?"

"It's… complicated. At first I thought Plankton was here for the formula, but the next thing I know, I…" SpongeBob paused.

_No._

He was NOT going to tell Mr. Krabs of how weak he had been, how puny he had acted in allowing Plankton to tool with his mind. He couldn't reveal to Mr. Krabs how he had allowed the man's _arch nemesis_ to spend an hour on his private property, in his personal office, near his secret formula.

"Well, sir," he continued, "he creepily creeped in all creepy-like like the creep he is, and it gave me the creeps, but you bet I took my spatula and whacked the barnacles off of him!" He made violent motions with his hands.

"I get it, ye put him in his place, but what did he want? The formula, ye said?"

"Indeed."

"So, what, he came in empty-handed?"

"Not exactly, Mr. Krabs. He came in with a…"

_~I… uh, magic box, I just wanna say that I miss hanging out with SpongeBob all the time.~_

"...a _magic box_ , sir."

Mr. Krabs squinted at him, confused. "A magic box, ye say?"

"Yes. One of his crazy inventions. But I splattered his guts across the floor and sent him home." He drew a hand to his forehead, giving a proud salute.

"I, uh…" Krabs forced a smile. "Good work, boy! Just don't go loopy on me, and be at yer station in half an hour. And, fer yer hard work, perhaps ye can take _two_ breaks. That depends on if Mr. Squidward is cooperative or not, heh."

"Oh, believe me," SpongeBob said, stepping backwards out the door. "He'll cooperate."

* * *

"Squidward, honey!" the voice cooed from the kitchen. "I'm gonna have to ask you to cover for me while I take break numba' _two_!"

"TWO?"

"You heard 'em," came the voice of Mr. Krabs, echoing out from his office. "Be a good sport and comply!"

Bullshrimp. This was some bullshrimp. "But what if I choose not to?" he scoffed. "What then?!"

"How does SPENDING THE NIGHT WITH SPONGEBOB sound?"

"It sounds like garbage, Eugene!"

"Uh-huh, so shut yer trap! Nobody likes ye, Mr. Squidward."

"I know!" He crossed his arms, squinting at the customers who stared at him. "...How could I forget?"

SpongeBob kicked open the kitchen door, a large pillow and knitted blanket slung over his shoulder. He yawned, his mouth open wide and his tongue wriggling around in his mouth like a worm. "See ya in fifteen, Squidward. I'll be in the office," he chuckled.

Squidward swatted at the kiss that was blow in his direction. "The office?! What kind of fu- _tomfool_ ery is this? You get to kick back and relax in the office for a quarter of an hour while I'm out here slaving away, himmin' and haulin' doing the work that YOU signed up to do? I'm a cashier, not a damn frycook. Hope ya'll like burnt patties," he said, jabbing a tentacle into the air at the people amongst him.

* * *

"So, Squidward was cooperative, huh?"

"Yep, yep!" SpongeBob grinned, setting up his pillow and blanket beside his boss' desk. He folded the blanket around him so that it both wrapped him up like a hotdog and shielded him from the cold, wooden floor. He looked into the distant, green eyes of his boss. "...Your eyes are so pretty."

"I, uh." He smiled down quizzically at the boy. "I appreciate the compl _er_ ment, son, but ye know charming speech don't do nothin' for me. I ain't pretty."

"You may not be pretty all over, but really, Mr. K, your eyes are so" -he flipped through his dictionary- "captivating."

"They've seen a lot."

"I bet. You're, what, seventy now?"

"Somethin' like it. And in that course of time, I've _really_ seen some things."

"What kinds of things?"

"Sick things, evil things," Mr. Krabs whispered, gazing into the distance. "Things that have scarred me for life... I've seen friends come and go. Companians, _wives_. I've seen wars, and the terrible effects that they have on whole communities. It does stuff to ye, boy-o. Ye need to value the life that you have, don't get so caught up in impressing others. Take care of yerself, nurture yer relationships. Let me tell ye a valuable story while yer here with me. A long time ago, way back in me Navy days-" He stopped when he heard snoring. Looking down, a cold frown instantly formed on his face.

SpongeBob had fallen asleep.

(Neptune-damnit, SpongeBob.)


	2. Griping and Groaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working the night shift takes a toll on SpongeBob.

**~Chapter 2: Griping and Groaning~**

* * *

Oh, boy. Tonight was gonna suck.

Squidward wasn't very fond of these "second breaks" that SpongeBob was receiving, and later in the week, he had reached his breaking point (pun intended). Of course, his lack of cooperation ultimately earned him a night with SpongeBob, and needless to say, that was going to be nothing but trouble.

"Hey, SpongeBob, could ya keep it down? I'm trying to read."

"Read what, _Bikini Bottom's Hottest Men Alive_?" SpongeBob teased from the kitchen. "I bet there's a page with me in there."

"Ew, no! Stop making the creepy remarks. You're making me uncomfortable," his voice trailed off. "I _can_ report this as harassment, you know. Not that anyone would even read my complaint letter, but still," he mumbled the last part.

"You know you like it when I mess with you Squidward."

Squidward slammed down his magazine and whipped his head around towards the kitchen window. "I-I'm not into that kinda stuff, I don't swing that way. Maybe _you_ get turned on by all this stuff, but _-_ Stop laughing, it's NOT THAT NEP-DAMN FUNNY!"

"Oo, insecure much?"

His face turned beat red. "Neptune, you're _unbearable_! You get so full of yourself and then you think it's funny to go around mocking those around you."

"Sounds a lot like you, Squidward."

The octopus sighed. "Y-y'know, SpongeBob. Just stop."

"Stop what, being a better employee than you? Stop working so that I can laze around and gaze at cute men with you?" He crawled up onto the grill (it wasn't on) and peered down at the book in the boat. There was a picture of Squilliam on the cover, a rose between his teeth. A gasp escaped the sponge's lips.

"HEY!"

"Dahahaha!" the laugh echoed throughout the empty restaurant. "Oh, barnacles, that's rich. Wait'll Mr. Krabs gets a load of this."

"If you don't shut your damn mouth, you'll get a load of my fist."

Jabbing the octopus' jingle-jangly nose, he retorted snidely, "Is that a threat, Squidward?"

"No, it's a promise!" He swung hard, landing a punch right between his legs.

SpongeBob stared, wide-eyed. Squidward had hit 'em right in the groin, right smack dab in the center, where his bits would be if he had any. It was, admittedly, a nice hit, but did no damage, as the sponge's spongy body was immune to simple blows.

"Mmm, Squiddy, do it again," he teased. His eyelashes batted in such a way, giving them the illusion that they were two times longer than they actually were.

Squidward practically gagged. He had intended to inflict pain, not initiate pleasure. "You sick f-ck."

"Woah, watch it, I'm only joking."

"Y'know, you're a lot gayer when you're haughty. All that _pride_ is getting to your head."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Resting a sincere hand on his coworker's shoulder, he said, "Look, Squid, joking aside, I really do like you."

"Oh my god, _really_? I _never_ would've guessed," he dropped his jaw in mock surprise, before immediately retaining his callous tone. "You know, telling me time and time again isn't gonna change anything."

"Yeah, but… I dunno, seeing you flip through that magazine… I thought maybe I had a chance."

"Yeah, well, any chance you had you blew it the moment you opened your mouth. Soon as that shrill voice left your body I was like, _'Oh no, SpongeBob'_." A chuckle escaped his lips.

SpongeBob thought about this for a second, and gasped. "W-wait, you're saying I may have had a chance way back when?"

"...Maybe, but that was a long time ago. I know how you act now. I know what it's like to spend whole weeks in your presence...It's hell."

SpongeBob frowned. "What about _this_ personality? _This_ me is different from the version of me you grew to hate."

"This 'version' of you" -he made air quotes with his tentacles- "is just another reason why I could never love you. No matter how much you alter yourself, you're still an idiot in my eyes." He sighed. "Get back to washing the dishes. We're done here."

"Squidward, I-"

"Shut it."

"But-"

"Go be the saint Krabs thinks you are and get back to work."

"Fine, but," he said as he lowered himself back down to the ground in front of the grill, "I don't think Mr. Krabs thinks I'm a saint."

Squidward raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he said, forcing the emotion of surprise for the second time since this conversation had started. "And what makes you think that?"

"Well," he replied, whipping out his giant dictionary, "according to this ol' book right here, a saint is, in a very general sense, a 'very virtuous, kind, or patient person'."

"Yeah, so? In a 'very general sense', that sounds a lot like you."

"Okay, sure. I _am_ amazing, Mr. Krabs knows it well, but he… Uh..."

"What?" Squidward demanded, growing impatient.

"He s-said he thought I was just trying to impress."

"So… either you _are_ just trying to impress, or that cheap-ass bastard is really inconsiderate."

"WOAH!" SpongeBob said, crawling up on the grill again to face Squidward. He frowned, his eyebrows fiercely slanted in opposite directions. "Don't."

"Don't what, insult your freaking idol?"

"He's not my idol."

"Then why do you kiss his ass like you do, serving him like he's some sort of king? He's Eugene Krabs, he's literally just our boss."

"I am _not_ a kiss-ass."

"Yeah, okay, I didn't _say_ that, smart-ass. I said why do you kiss _Krabs'_ ass like you do, always trying to please him and shit?"

"Because, Squidward," SpongeBob said firmly, looking him right between the eyes. "I wanted this job so bad. I can't afford to let my guard down and lose it."

The octopus seethed and slammed his fist down upon the bench of the cashier boat. His nose flared, his face plastered with frustrated confusion. "SpongeBob, you have _seriously_ got to be kidding me! Nearly FIFTEEN YEARS as fry cook and you're just now becoming concerned with the quality of your work? Mr. Krabs is always saying you're the best damn fry cook he's ever had, and this I can confirm _(albeit begrudgingly)_ because I've been working here longer than you, a whopping _seventeen_ years. So, please SpongeBob, what's this all about? Please help me to understand!"

SpongeBob sat criss-cross on the grill, his face buried in his palms. He shook his head, at a loss for words. Only faint sniffles were heard coming from the boy.

Two tentacles yanked his arms from his face. "Pull yourself together, SpongeBob!"

"For what?" he snapped. He looked up, his face tainted red.

"I want to understand what's going on with you. One minute you're all high and mighty, and the next you're back to your old self, crying. Are you bipolar or something?"

"No," SpongeBob scoffed, sounding offended. "I've been checked up for that before, and the doctors agreed that wasn't the case. Why are you all up in my business anyway?" He wiped a hurt tear from his eye.

"Do you _honestly_ think you have the right to ask that? With all the crap you've put me through? All the trespassing and harassment and bullshit…"

SpongeBob lowered his head, again shaking it.

Squidward sucked a breath through his teeth, eyeing the sponge with a glazed look in his eye. He claimed to hate SpongeBob, everybody knew that, but he had recently come to the conclusion that he really only hated the kid's behaviors. Watching his coworker mewl like that (in that genuinely upset way), something like concern came over him, and he rubbed his temples. _Get a grip, Squidward. He's accountable for his actions. He's his own person. He's smarter now, he can figure this out for himself._

"Look, SpongeBob," he sighed, his cynicism returning to him after it's brief vacation. "If you're gonna sit around griping and groaning, then you seriously don't need to work the night shift. Really."

The fry cook sat up, glowering at Squidward, before silently returning to his place behind the grill.

"Oh, and by the way, if you even _think_ about telling Mr. Krabs about that magazine you saw earlier, I'll have you kicked off the night shift quicker than you know. Plankton was very specific."

* * *

_*Creak!*_ The door of the pineapple swung open, and the glow of the moonlight lit up the interior with a pale white luminosity. A lock clicked and the door returned to its frame, the room immediately encompassed by darkness. A gravelly meow echoed from the hallway. Gary was hungry.

SpongeBob pressed his hands against his ear holes (lol, ew), his bloodshot eyes creased together. He almost wanted to fall on his knees and praise Neptune that it was Friday, but the more awake part of him reminded himself that it was now Saturday. Five in the morning on a Saturday.

The night shift had been an excruciatingly long one. _I went soft,_ the voice screamed inside his head. _I let Squidward see me weak. I let Squidward see the old me._ SpongeBob had once again let the world have its way with his vulnerability, and it was eating him up inside. He was different now, he was changed. Why couldn't people accept that?

 _Squidward hated the old me,_ he pondered, settling into his inflatable living room chair. He sunk down into it, kicking at Gary who tried to nip at his toes through his socks. _And yet, I become a smarter, harder-working person, and that still isn't-_

"Gary, I swear to god!" He leapt up from his seat.

Gary shrunk back.

"I fed you plenty before I left, AND I poured two other bowls to serve as lunch and dinner. If you're still hungry, that's your problem. I fed you."

Gary hissed, and snapped at his big toe.

"What the heck...?" SpongeBob groaned, facepalming. "I-I'm sorry, okay. I haven't gotten a good amount of sleep in days. I keep forgetting what time it is. Follow me, I'll get you breakfast. Why are you up this early anyway?"

"Meow, m-meow meow."

"Concerned? About… me?" He was tempted to _awww_ like a mother would at a baby passing by in a stroller, but he bit his tongue. "I don't know why the heck you would be. Just get in the kitchen, quit whining."

The tired sponge reached for the handle of one of the kitchen cabinets and opened it, his fingers dancing around in blind search for a can of snail food. He pulled out a can that had already been opened and poured the small remainder of its contents into his pet snail's bowl.

"Eat up, Gary. I'm going to bed."

He ignored the protesting meows from his snail telling him that the chunks of meat in the can had not been enough, and turned on his heal to leave.

"Meow meow."

"No, Gary, I'm not going to have breakfast." He ignored the growling in his stomach. "I'm a sponge, in case you've forgotten. I'll just filter feed."

More meows were hurled in his direction, the noise pounding in his head like a drum.

"Just STOP IT!" SpongeBob screamed, turning around to face the source of his ever-worsening headache. "Leave me the hell alone. I can't deal with this right now!" Tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

He spun around and ran upstairs, his footsteps echoing throughout the house, leaving Gary to whimper alone.

* * *

SpongeBob sat in the middle of his bedroom floor, clothed in nothing but his underpants, his upper body drooped over and his legs crossed. He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep, but something was keeping him from it. His body was tired, but his emotions were wide awake. There was something mildly appealing about pitying himself on the floor in a position of meditation. (He's a weirdo.) He struggled to keep his head up, his arms weakly pressing against the floor. He breathed a sharply through his nose, cursing himself and his situation.

His pores opened and closed profusely, straining to pull in the surrounding water. He groaned. This shouldn't be a difficult process. What was he forgetting? _Oh, yeah,_ he remembered. _The thing with my mouth._ He opened his mouth wide and sucked in. He sounded like a broken vacuum or an old person struggling to breathe with the way he was attempting to filter feed. "Oooo, wha-wha-wha," came the sounds from his mouth. (Like how he sounded in "I Had An Accident", if you'll recall.)

He stopped.

 _I feel like an idiot_ , he thought. Well, he did look like one, with his mouth agape and that cross-eyed look on his face. But the face was quickly replaced with one of… ecstasy? No, that wasn't quite right. One of strained pleasure, however, might have been the appropriate description. _Oh, this is interesting._

SpongeBob's face began to heat up, his eyes widening. His pores were still expanding and contracting, but now a small bit of slime (for lack of a better word) was oozing from the crevices. He touched his finger to one of the holes on the left side of his face, coiling back in mild disgust at his discovery. "Neptune, not this again," the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

What had initially started as a feeding process, his body was slowly beginning to change into an act of self-pleasure. He hadn't had much time to himself in a while, he felt, thus he hadn't really… touched himself in quite some time. And the thoughts of teasing Squidward began to surface as vivid memories in his mind.

 _Squidward had a magazine,_ he thought, fingering one of the pores on his hip. _It was a magazine with men in it. Squilliam was on the cover._ His breath hitched. _Oh gosh, what if he was getting off in the boat while I was cleaning?_ He rubbed harder, this time attending to two pores. _He even said he might have liked me at one point._ He rubbed harder still. _What if he thinks of me doing this sometimes?_ The goo coated his middle and index finger, and began thrusting them into the holes. _What if he thinks of me when he gets off?_ His eyes creased shut, and he bit his lip.

But wait.

SpongeBob sucked in a breath, his stomach dropping a bit. _Squidward said he doesn't like the new me. He didn't like the old me either._ Slime pooled around the pores left unattended, begging him for the attention that they craved, but his hand fell limp at his side. _Squidward was looking at the picture of Squillium, most likely. He wouldn't have been thinking of me._ He drew his legs up to his chest. _And… didn't he say something about Plankton? I-I can't even feel comfortable around him now._ A sick feeling came upon him, and he felt it in both his stomach and his throat.

He just sat there, face red, completely unfinished. Unfortunately, the build-up was still there. His pores were still contracting rapidly, causing the sponge a blend of physical pain and pleasure that he now just wished would go away.

A sudden wave of emotions came upon him, and tears flooded from his eyes. Curses fell from his trembling lips, his whole body spasming in a mix of wracking sobs and failed orgasm. He folded himself into a fetal position, moaning.

 _Look at me,_ he lamented. _Now I'm the derisory little scum._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me two address two things:
> 
> 1\. Wow, um... this story got super gay. And it will only get more gay from here!
> 
> 2\. In a more recent season of SpongeBob ("Goodbye, Krabby Patty", I think) Squidward states that he has had seventeen years of experience behind the cash register. In another recent season, Mr. Krabs and Mrs. Puff claim to have been dating for sixteen years, and we know that SpongeBob is the one who got them hooked up. This means that SpongeBob has been at the Krusty Krab for at least fifteen years. I put in a year's gap from what should be considered the canon amount of years he's been at the Krusty Krab (around sixteen) and said at least FIFTEEN in my fanfic in order to put emphasis on the fact that Squidward has worked at the Krusty Krab longer. I hope this makes sense.
> 
> So, I want to know your thoughts. Do you feel bad for SpongeBob, or do you think the pain he's experiencing is what he deserves? What would you like to see go down in the next chapter? Usually I'm not super interactive with my audiences, but in this story, a heck of a lot can happen. :)


	3. Jellyfishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick catches up with SpongeBob.

**~Chapter 3: Jellyfishing~  
**

* * *

The bed creaked. A loud grunt cause the sponge to stir in his sleep.

“SpongeBob, get up,” a hushed voice demanded.

The sponge groaned and stretched, pulling the blankets down to his non-existent chin. He awoke as the definition of _groggy,_ dried tears crusty around his ‘lids. He opened them up to the harsh, blinding light of the morning, revealing them to be a jarring shade of bloodshot (if bloodshot were ever a color), and he looked like a sufferer of severe pink eye, or as if he had been mercilessly doused with pepper spray. His blue irises reverse-dilated as they adjusted to the cruelty of the sun’s rays. His vision was immediately met with the form of a large, pink blob.

“Patrick?” SpongeBob asked, his voice alarmingly husky. He began coughing up phlegm. Clearing his throat, he said, “Gee, I sound terrible… What time is it?”

“It’s time to go jellyfishing, duh. C’mon, you’re gonna miss the bus!”

“The bus?” he gasped, tumbling out of bed.

“Yeah, we got tickets, remember? Go get dressed ...You look _awful_.” Patrick sat on the bed, two jellyfish nets tucked under his arm. He was sporting a goofy jellyfish-shaped hat on his head, wearing the souvenir as a proud trophy of his jellyfishing accomplishments. “Get your jellyfish hat, too! I brought mine.” (“Jellyfishing, jellyfishing, jellyfishing, jellyfishing…” Do y'all remember that scene where they kept chanting it over and over? Well, I feel like I’m typing it over and over.)

“I can see that, Patrick.” The sponge struggled to get to his feet, his legs once again becoming two sticks of gelatin. He looked washed out, slime still oozing out of his pores. It was embarrassing to be seen like this. He clumsily wrapped himself in a blanket and stumbled into the bathroom to clean himself up.

SpongeBob raised an eyebrow at Patrick, who had followed him in. “Uhhh, a little _privacy_?”

Patrick replied with a look of confusion. “Since when do you care about privacy?”

“Since when did you get so nosy? Get out.”

“Ugh, fine. I don’t even have a nose.” The starfish made his way towards the exit, rolling his eyes dramatically in hopes SpongeBob would give him attention (which he missed). He stopped in the doorway, a question befalling upon him. “Say, what’s all that goopy shit coming out of your craters?”

SpongeBob blushed and pulled the towel tighter around him. “You _know_ what it is, let’s not talk about it. Also, since when do you curse?”

“I dunno, since you started ignoring me. I need an outlet. You’re not any better.”

SpongeBob was a bit dumbfounded. _Since when did he acquire such profound wit?_ he questioned inwardly. Woah. Now he was starting to sound like Plankton. _Neptune, this is stupid. Stupid like Patrick. Gah, quit wasting time, SquarePants!_ “Patrick, look, do you wanna go jellyfishing or what?”

“Well yeah, I mean I paid for tickets. So _yeah_.”

“Okay, good, so can you get out of here? Let me get ready like you’ve so rudely awoken me to do. _Please._ ” With that, he dropped his towel and ran the water, desperate to rid himself of his icky discharge.

SpongeBob dipped his toe into the shallow water, satisfied with the temperature. The shower was on, and the steady stream of warm droplets was much appreciated. Despite the pounding headache he bore, he was able to relax under the water’s pleasant blessing.

He picked up the bar of soap and held it under his nostrils. He breathed in the pleasant scent. _Lilac. ...Squidward._ Ever since Squidward had started using what Mr. Krabs had called “frilly soap”, he’d been both washing and spritzing himself with the same products. The flowery smell was so intoxicating; he couldn’t get enough of it.

As he began to scrub the bar across his arms, he recalled the day that Squidward first noticed his fresh, new smell.

_“I don’t know what air freshener you’ve switched to, Eugene, my man, but it smells_ heavenly _in here.” The octopus’ large nose crinkled as he inhaled deeply._

_SpongeBob walked by the cashier boat, dirty plates in his hands. “I know, right? Smells a lot like you.”  
  
_ _“Oddly enough, you’re right. Finally, some recognition in-” He paused, his tentacles flying up to pinch his nose. “Whew, SpongeBob, that smell’s practically_ billowing _from you. What, did you- did you_ bathe _in the stuff?”_

_Mr. Krabs came out of his office, gagging. “What is that godawful smell?”_

_“_ Godawful _?” Squidward sighed. “I knew it was too good to be true. SpongeBob, this is your doing, isn’t it?”_

_The sponge nodded, cheeks rosy red. “I… K-kinda sorta.”_

_“Why, though? That was_ my _signature smell.”_

_“Yeah, well now it’s the whole damn restaurant’s_ ‘signature smell’, _” Krabs said, crossing his arms in disgust. “Smells like women’s perfume in here. What’s the big idea, SpongeBob?”_

_SpongeBob beamed, his grin wide. “Just taking inspiration from Squidward, is all.”_

_“Is all? Really?”_

_“Yes, sir!”_

_“I’m gonna have to limit ye to a single squirt per day. I’m practically choking back in me office, boy-o. Squidward, that goes for ye, too. Quit being a bad influence on the kid. I don’t want him becoming like ye.”_

_“B-but Mr. Krabs,” the octopus spluttered. “That’s completely unfair!”_

_“Tell that to yer lil’ boyfriend,” he replied as left to return to his office._

_Squidward’s face had gone red, and he glared at SpongeBob. The boy just smiled at him, his blue eyes big and bright. “Did you hear ‘im, Squidward? He said_ boyfriend _!” he squealed. Squidward just shook his head, and sniffed at his own shirt. No doubt, they bore the same scent._

SpongeBob opened his eyes, looking down at the bar of soap. He’d been scrubbing his arm for quite some time. _Tartar sauce! I’m gonna be late._ He plunged the bar into one of his holes, vigorously pumping in and out (ignoring the sparks that were igniting in his loins). He took care of all the pores around his face before he heard the bathroom door swing open.

“SpongeBob, what the barnacles are you doing?!” Patrick cried, desperation in his voice. “C’mon, get out of there. The bus should be here in five! Oh my _gosh_.”

“‘Oh my gosh’ nothing. I’m coming, hold up.” He continued to scrub his pores, shoving the bar deep into his spongy flesh. Just as he was about to turn off the faucet, the curtains were flung open.

Patrick snatched the bar of soap from SpongeBob’s hand. “COME ON!” he shouted. He ignored the protesting words of his friend and began to forcefully scrub him all over. “You. need. to. get. dressed!” He pressed the bar into SpongeBob’s waist, shoving it deep inside one of his more sensitive pores. “Stop fighting me! I have waited TOO LONG to hang out with you. You are NOT gonna miss out on this.” The starfish fought back tears.

SpongeBob just stood there, pressed up against the shower wall, giving up the fight. His arms hung defenseless at his sides. Patrick was strong. What he lacked in brains, he made up in brawn. And while he admired that about Pat, the big fella’ would sometimes use his brute strength in a way that he did not approve.

“Patrick, get off of me!” he groaned.

“No! Maybe if you weren’t so caught up in your Squidward fantasies all the time, maybe I wouldn’t have to do this.”

“Patrick, I’m clean, okay?! I was just about to turn off the shower. Geez.” Patrick let up and he stepped out of the tub, foamy bubbles leaking from his body. “And what makes you think I was fantasizing about Squidward? ‘C-cause I wasn’t. That’s freaking gross.”

“SpongeBob, I’m your best friend,” he said matter-of-factly. “You think I’m not aware of your silly crushes?”

The sponge ignored the rhetorical question and snatched his towel from where it hung in the bathroom, his face bright red. “Let’s go.” _And they’re not silly_ , he hissed inside.

“You’re not gonna wear pants?!”

“Patrick, quit being a…” He felt like a dumbass without his dictionary to aid his vocabulary. “...a _dumbass_ all the time. You _know_ I’m not leaving without my pants.”

“Geez, SpongeBob, no need to be so intolerant.”

“Stop! Stop using big words like that. It’s ‘OOC’.”

“Huh?”

“Out of character, Patrick.”

“Oh.”

Patrick stared blankly, following SpongeBob into his bedroom, where the guy began dressing. As SpongeBob pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, Patrick thought to himself. _Man, I’m hungry and I wonder what a piña colada tastes like._ (Okay, Patrick’s thoughts are boring. Moving on!)

SpongeBob fitted himself into his signature square pants, sighing as he leaned up against his bedside. He was drained. (Emotionally, not physically. His pores still leaked suds.) He looked at Patrick. The things he did for the people he cared about. Lately, SpongeBob had become accustomed to lying, so it should come as no surprise that he had lied to Plankton about having “other priorities”. In reality, most of his priorities hadn’t changed. He was still living the same life he lived before his pride had got to him. The only difference now is that he simply would not admit it.

Once he had ensured that his shirt was tucked in and his belt was secure, he grabbed Patrick’s hand and lead him downstairs to get his jellyfish net. He rummaged through his closet until he found his prized net, enclosed in a case with azure-colored engraving that read _Ol’ Reliable_. He reached for the case, his fingers shaky, as was his breath. Fatigue was upon him.

Patrick snatched up both the net and SpongeBob and burst through the pineapple door, leaving the door slightly ajar, unbeknownst to him. He stopped at the bus stop. The bus was within view, only a mile or so down the road.

“SpongeBob, look! The bus is almost here.” The starfish hopped up and down excitedly, squeezing SpongeBob into the side of his body. Leftover bubbles flew from him.

“B-barnacles, Patrick,” the sponge squeaked. “Let go.”

“Oh, sorry,” he sheepishly replied, setting down his friend. “C’mon, let’s get on.”

SpongeBob eyed the bus, stepping towards it almost reluctantly. He half-wished it would drive away without him, like it had done all those years ago on his trip to Glove World. Why was he doing this? He was tired. He should be staying home, enjoying the warmth of his bed, the warmth of a hot shower. But no, he was accompanying his doofus friend to a sport he had played a thousand times before. _Jellyfishing. Who was the barnacle-head that invented that game, anyway?_

SpongeBob and Patrick paid their fares and SpongeBob chose a seat in the very back of the bus. Thankfully, it wasn’t very crowded, but there was still a considerable amount of fishfolk taking up seats.

Patrick grinned at his pal, nudging him on the shoulder. “Aw, lighten up, Sponge. It’s gonna be fun.”

SpongeBob rolled his eyes and groaned. “Easy for you to say, Patrick. You’re not the one who got home from work at five in the damn morning.”

Patrick frowned. He knew SpongeBob to curse around him only when something was wrong. Foul language was something that rarely left his mouth when he was in the presence of his friends. SpongeBob was just like that. At least, before his _pride_ , anyway. Before all of that _employee of the month_ nonsense. “Well, how’s about I do most of the catching, that way you don’t wear yourself out? Trust me, SpongeBob, I’m a jellyfishing pro. I won’t let ya down.”

“I appreciate your trying to help, buddy, but this past week has just _not_ been going well for me. I probably would've stayed in bed all day had it not been for you.” SpongeBob was very particular about how he expressed his feelings since his _pride_ , but something about the dim wit of Patrick made him open up. This guy beside him was one who would likely not care nor care to gossip about SpongeBob’s emotional breakdowns and weaknesses. Why had he pushed Patrick away, anyway? Maybe because he didn't want to be seen as a child anymore, as someone who relied on others to keep him emotionally stable. But it was times like these when fatigue had him within its grasp and he was too tired to care how much of a fool he seemed -especially in the embrace of a dear friend, no matter how ignorant that friend may be- where he felt as though he could be the himself of the past. This didn't mean that SpongeBob _wouldn't_ snap and be a complete douchebag to Patrick sometimes, but it did mean that he still had a heart for the “other priorities” in his life, those things, those people whom he used to dedicate entire days to. His emotions were wishy-washy and it was hard. Maybe he _was_ bipolar. He’d never actually gone to doctor’s, after all. That was just another lie.

Patrick squeezed his best friend away from the edge of the seat and closer towards him. He rubbed his shoulder, comfortingly. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t stay in bed. What was I gonna do all day without you?”

“I dunno, perhaps sit on your behind all day and watch _Mermaid Man_ reruns? Like you usually do. Instead of actually get a job.” The words were teasing.

“SpongeBob, you know I can’t get a job.”

“Do I? Hm, and why’s that?”

“‘Cause nobody’ll hire me. They don’t like the looks of my resume—”

“ _Résumé._ ”

“Résumé,” he repeated. “Apparently you need more than two years of Wumbology to get a job around here.”

A chuckle couldn’t help but escape SpongeBob’s lips. “Darn it, Pat, that was funnier than it should’ve been.”

“Hey, look, you’re smiling!”

“Don’t push it, Patrick.”

“Sorry,” he nudged him playfully, tee-heeing like a young girl. “Oh boy, I can’t wait to get to Jellyfish Fields. Look, SpongeBob, I’ve got my hat on. Look at it!”

“I see it.”

“But just look at the colors, and watch this! —Fling. Look, watch it jiggle.” He flicked the underside of one of the tentacles that protruded from the hat. “It’s all floppy. Kinda like Squidward’s nose.”

As Patrick proceeded to guffaw (loudly enough to where he was getting the side-eye from some), SpongeBob began to drift away into his little daydream land. _Squidward_ . He smelled the arm that he had over-lathered with soap that morning. _Lilac._ He touched his finger to a pore on the left side of his face, and swiped the inside of the orifice. Drawing his finger back, he examined it. There was a bit of residue on his finger. It smelled strongly of the soap bar’s scent. _Not here, not now,_ SpongeBob thought, sitting up abruptly. Patrick was getting louder.

“Patrick, shush!” he said, grabbing his friend’s arm. “It’s really not that funny.”

“Sorry, I’m just excited.”

“I can tell. But seriously, we’ve been here a thousand times before. What makes this time any more special? And don’t say the hat.”

“Aw man!” Any further comments about the hat were silenced. “I’m just super excited because it feels like we haven’t hung out in forever. I dunno, maybe I’m just stupid.”

“Well, that’s half of it.”

“I mean, I feel like you never have time for me anymore.” He let out a huff made of frustrated emotions. “D-did you get to hear the magic box?”

“The- The _what_ is it now?” He peered at him quizzically. It didn’t ring a bell.

“The magic box! Y’know, the one that Plankton said was supposed to get sent to you? It had a special message inside. You were supposed to get it. Did you get it? OH NO, it probably got lost in the sky on its way to your house! Darn it, I knew you should’ve never moved into a pineapple. The magic box probably mistook it for—

“Nep-damn, hold your seahorses. Geez.”

“And I oop—” (Yes, I did reference a meme.) Patrick immediately went quiet.

“I did hear it,” he admitted. “What about it?”

“I… I dunno. I just was wondering if you heard what I had to say, cause—”

“I did.”

“Oh.”

“Yep. ‘Nuff said.”

Patrick turned away from SpongeBob, disinterested, and looked out the window, allowing himself to be captivated by the coral plants flying by as the bus continued down the road, only a short way from their destination. The colors blew by in a blurry mix of red and orange, the sun shining down on the underwater floor. Before he knew it, the familiar green landscape of Jellyfish Fields was in view. He looked down at SpongeBob who was nestled in his side. _Aww, he’s so cute,_ the thought intruded into his mind _._ “Hey, SpongeBob?”

“Yes, Patrick?” he replied, snuggling closer to him. The starfish was warm, and that was making him sleepy.

Patrick paused for a moment, staring into SpongeBob’s eyes, which now held him captive. Those beautiful blue orbs shone brighter than the sun, his eyelids opening and closing slowly. His delicate body bounced with the movement of the vehicle, any attempts at rest futile. You could almost see a glimpse of his former self, with how that palpable tenderness was radiating from him. _Squidward’s missing out on a truly amazing guy,_ Patrick thought. _Man, I_ _never thought I’d be thinking that my own friend looks… precious._

“Patrick!” SpongeBob stressed, that momentary gentle soul retreating back into his being. He sat up straight, shifting away from Patrick when he noticed him staring. “Uh… what did you want?”

“Well, I _was_ just going to say that we’re almost to Jellyfish Fields, but now we’re here.”

“Already? Ugh.” He sighed, and stood up shakily, the headache from earlier returning almost immediately. “Frick,” he breathed. His hands gripped the seat in front of him. This was a bad idea. He should’ve never gotten out of bed this morning. (Darn it, I hate using present tenses in a past tense story.)

“Have a nice day,” the bus driver grumbled as everyone began to exit the vehicle.

“You, too,” SpongeBob grumbled back. He squeezed Patrick’s hand tighter, ignoring the disgusted look on the bus driver’s face. They weren’t a couple, but he’d be damned if someone was gonna give him and Patrick dirty looks for holding hands. (Sounds like something to start controversy with _Focus on the Family_. Oh, wait—)

* * *

SpongeBob looked up into the sky at the sky flowers, basking in the afternoon sun. He looked over at Patrick who was breathing heavily, his jellyfish-shaped hat askew on his head. They had been capturing the gelatinous creatures for hours, with SpongeBob pausing to catch his breath every once in a while. He felt as though he spent more time catching his breath than catching jellyfish, to which Patrick was not amused. Despite this, the two had a relatively good time together, goofing off in the privacy of the meadow-like land. Those fishfolk who had been on the bus had not been headed to Jellyfish Fields, which was pleasantly surprising to the duo. They had some much needed catching up to do. Now here SpongeBob was soaking up the rays and his own sweat, feeling as though he wanted to pass out beneath the underwater sun.

“Wow, Pat, you’re panting like a worm [dog],” he finally commented. He himself was also panting in such a manner, his tongue sticking out just slightly from the side of his mouth. His forehead was dotted with visible beads of sweat, and his cheeks were flushed a pale red.

“Yeah, I am,” he chuckled. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. Patrick was a bigger fella. Getting around wasn’t the easiest thing for him, thus why he was half-collapsed on the floor. He turned over to look at SpongeBob. Again, the word _precious_ crossed his mind. There was something about the way SpongeBob looked when he was tired. He was so fragile, so vulnerable, a being that needed at least eight hours of sleep to function. Witnessing the creature in a state of utter exhaustion was a sight to behold. What had happened to that lionhearted workman he knew him to be, even before his _pride_? This… This is what Patrick missed. He missed the SpongeBob that would both stoop to his level AND show the virtues of a strong leader. Nowadays, he only saw the side that would put him down. This moment was precious.

“Patrick?” SpongeBob said. His voice wavered ever so slightly.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you ever… get depressed?”

Patrick breathed in, taken aback. He was expecting a comment regarding how beautiful that blue jellyfish they saw earlier had been, or some tough-to-answer question that surpassed his understanding, but he wasn’t expecting that. “D-depressed?”

“Yes, depressed!” he snapped. “Don’t play dumb with me now, Patrick. For Neptune’s sake, do I need to whip out the dictionary? My _gosh._ ”

Though the outburst was brusque, especially at such a peaceful time of relaxation, he knew what was beneath the offended voice of his friend. _Insecurity._ “Uh, I… I dunno.”

“Is that your way of saying yes or are you really just that stupid?”

“Hey! Coming from Squidward that doesn’t mean a whole lot, but coming from you… Words hurt, y’know.”

“Ever heard of ‘sticks and stones’? All I want is a straightforward answer.”

“But you don’t need to be a jerk.”

“If it’s the only thing that’ll get my point across, then yes I do.”

He turned away from SpongeBob and laid flat on his back, staring up into the sky as he crossed his arms. “I don’t even get the point that you’re trying to make,” he said, sighing. “You know my brain functions in weird ways sometimes.”

“All the time.”

“Fine, I’ll answer your question! If it means keeping me sane.” If Patrick had possessed a pair of nostrils, they would have been flared. _Why does SpongeBob have to argue? I miss when he would, uh… What’s the word?_ **_Tolerate_ ** _me more._

“Well, go ahead then.”

He breathed in. “Yes, SpongeBob. I do get depressed. But _why_?”

“Why what? Why do you get depressed?” he sneered. He had to stop himself from a potentially morbid chuckle, from the bitter laughter that Plankton was forced to endure when the scum decided to show up at the Krusty Krab that night. Something inside him wanted to give rise to the darkness. Wasn’t pride one of the seven deadly sins? _Is it that I’m so full of sin that I’m like this?_ SpongeBob thought. _Eh, then again, even Squidward admitted that I fell under the description of what one might call a saint._ He glanced over at Patrick, who did not look amused by his sarcasm.

The starfish squinted at him. “No, I meant why did you ask?”

“Oh. Just wondering.”

Patrick leapt to his feet, having been quickly fed up with the turn this conversation was taking. “Look, SpongeBob, YOU may think this is funny, but I don’t, and believe me, I think a lot of stuff is funny. But you’re just sitting here giving me a hard time, and I… I...” He clenched his fists in frustration. “I’m tired of the way you’ve been acting lately!”

SpongeBob just laid there, hands behind his head.

“SPONGEBOB!” Patrick said, bouncing up and down like a spring. “You told me you listened to the magic box! Don’t you care? Seriously, SpongeBob, this really hurts my brain. You know that better than anybody else. I need you in my life. I need the you that helps me. I… I’m… Look, I’m not trying to be selfish. I just can’t do life by myself.”

Still no response from the guy.

“Did you hear the part where I told you I loved you? That was hard for me! Agh, I don’t handle emotions well. I-I think I’m gonna have a… a breakdown or something?” He was holding his head in his hands, a wave of emotions coming upon him. “D-damn it.”

“Y’know something, SpongeBob,” Patrick continued. “We had a great time here today and I never once thought ‘Hey, what if this ends in disaster?’ because I actually thought things were going so perfect, and you’re my best friend, and I— I love you.”

Patrick eyed the sponge, scanning for a hint of guilt, a hint of concern, but his face was blank, was cold. The precious warmth from earlier dissipated into his being once again. But Patrick was not going to be ignored like this. He was not going to be treated like a stranger, not after the hours of fun they had just had. There was one thing that Patrick knew would without a doubt provoke a response. At the top of his lungs, he cried, “ROBERT!”

The large, black pupils shrunk, and the mouth hung agape. “What the dirty barnacles did you just say?” SpongeBob hissed, his two large buck teeth resting on the tip of his tongue.

Patrick’s heart began to pound in his chest. Maybe this had been a bad idea. “I… I just wanted you to answer me.”

“And THAT’S how you do it?! By bringing up shit from my past to torment me with. I thought I made it crystal clear that I never wanna hear that cursed name again.”

“I’m not trying to— to _torment_ you! I’m trying to get you to stop tormenting me.”

“Then maybe you should go… _Rick._ ”


	4. Spying and Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plankton spies on SpongeBob, who is caught up in himself.

**~CHAPTER 4: Spying and Crying~**

* * *

“P-Boy to Laptop. P-Boy to Laptop, do you read me?”

“What did I tell you about referring to me as such a device?” 

“I know, I know. _You_ think it’s demeaning. _I_ think it’s hot, personally, but whatever, woman.”

Plankton was in a corner of a wall inside SpongeBob’s house, huddled by his bedroom door. It was quite easy to commit break-ins due to his size, made even easier by the fact that the front door of the pineapple abode had been left open by a certain foolish starfish. While lurking around Conch Street in hopes of an opportunity to carry out his plans, “P-Boy” had noticed the cracked door and used it as a means of entry. Perfect. 

“Always kinkshaming me, Karen. All the time,” he said, playfulness in his tone. “I’m over here conducting _your_ dastardly plan, and you decide to ridicule what I find appealing. Shame on you.”

“Shame on _you_ , apparently.”

“That was the joke.”

The microorganism placed his invisible ear up to the door. “Ugh.” He could hear SpongeBob stirring. Not that the sponge being awake would interfere with his plans, but he was curious. What was all that noise? He was planning to crawl beneath the door when he thought the boy was settled down or when he heard signs of weakness (e.g., crying, depressed noises), but so far, he heard no such noises. He had been inside the house for quite some time, maybe an hour or two. He’d listened to the sponge slam open the door, make himself lunch, cry, feed his snail, take a piss, and mumble something about needing some alone time, but after those events, SpongeBob had gone into his bedroom and he hadn’t heard much since.

“Ugh, what?” the robotic voice crackled through the speaker of the walkie-talkie. “You still can’t access our prime target?”

“I mean, I could if I really wanted to, but I’m not sure this is the best time. I don’t wanna screw this up.”

“You mean like how you screw up everything else?”

“Ah, shuddup,” the word(s) came out in an irritated hiss.

“Oh, so _I_ can’t make jokes?”  
  
“You _are_ a joke.”

“Okay, Sheldon. That’s not right.”

“I know, I know. Sorry. But I mean, it’s true, though. _‘Computer wife’._ People think that’s the funniest damn thing, and it boggles their mind that people even have them. I mean, sex robots exist, but a solid companion? They just don’t get it.”

“So I’m a solid companion now.” To some, her words would sound like sarcasm, but to Plankton… well, it sounded like sarcasm. But he did detect a bit of genuine surprise in her voice, and he assumed she appreciated the words.

“Yeah, Karen. You may be a real bitch sometimes, but we’ve been together through thick and thin. You’re the only one who could ever tolerate me, heh. I’m such a dick.”

“What did I tell you about using phallic-related expletives?”

“And, there she goes again,” he mumbled, pressing the off button on his “portable, two way-radio” [Lexico.com, 2019]. (Guys, don’t ask me why I put dictionary references here.) He pressed the side of his head more firmly against the door, but his hearing was not enhanced. A lightbulb appeared above his head. _Being a derisory little scum actually works to my advantage._ He lied down on the floor, stretching himself so that his eyeball could see inside the bedroom. Immediately, the reasons for all the grunting and groaning he had been hearing became very, _very_ clear.

“Neptune _above_!” he cried. He slapped his hands over his mouth, scared he was too loud. Thankfully, the sponge didn’t look up from the matters he was currently attending to.

SpongeBob was drenched in sweat and it glittered in the sunset, the warm glow flooding through his bedroom window. He was completely nude, his left arm outstretched towards his nethers, his face contorting in all sorts of abnormal ways. His breathing was shallow, and the name that fell from his lips was familiar. “Squidward,” he moaned. “I need you.” Vulgar language emanated from his throat like a waterfall.

Plankton gagged, his face turning an even darker shade of green than it already was. This had not been what he was expecting at all when he heard SpongeBob talk of alone time to his pet snail. Come to think of it, the thought had never even crossed his mind. To Plankton, SpongeBob was just a stupid kid. A kid that could squash him with merely the force of his fingertip, but a kid nonetheless. Nevermind how old he really was, SpongeBob was a juvenile creature that really should not (in Plankton’s mind) be engaging in such wild acts of… whatever one might like to call the sight before him. It was just… wow. _Wow_ was the only way to describe what lie before his eye. It was far from precious.

The more Plankton contemplated SpongeBob’s actions, the more he found himself staring. He gawked at the way his fingers moved, the coltish digits circling without grace around his pores. _He looks like a woman,_ he thought, immediately shooing the thoughts from his mind. _That’s detestable, Plankton. Don’t think like that,_ he told himself. Though he couldn’t help but ogle the boy’s movements.

“ _Laptop_ to P-Boy, what’s the news?”

“Shit!” he yelped and pulled himself out from underneath the door, back to where he originally sat in the corner behind it, his eye no longer fixed on the lewd image of SpongeBob in bed. The buzzing in his skin-pocket (You know how characters stuff things in their body and it’s like a pocket?) caused him to freak out. “Ey, I thought I had this thing turned off,” he hissed into the device. “What’s the deal?”

“I turned it back on, Sheldon. It’s not magic.”

“Yeah, but how?”

“That’s not important. Just tell me how far you’ve gotten. Have you entered the bedroom?”

 _Blah blah blah._ “Somewhat. I peeked under the door. Not much is going on.”

“Hmm. He’s not in a state of self-pity?”

“Oh, just the opposite!” Plankton said, wanting so desperately to laugh out loud. How funny she should ask! Now, how was he going to explain this? “Well,” he said, unaware of how hot his cheeks were, “I’d say he’s in a state of self-pleasure.”

“You’re kidding,” Karen said, hoping she’d heard wrong.

“Pardon my slang, but _deadass,_ he’s in there touching himself to thoughts of... oh gag me.” He shuttered. “ _Squidward_ , of all people.”

“Well, um… that’s unsavory, but it’s not unexpected. You suspected he was infatuated with the cashier. It should come as no surprise, honey.”

“But it’s _SpongeBob_ ,” he practically screamed. “He’s a kid!”

“He’s a man. A man with needs, quite like your own. Who are you to judge?”

Plankton gripped tightly at the walkie-talkie, clenching his teeth. There was something absolutely irking about SpongeBob — _SpongeBob, the stupid kid—_ conducting himself in such a way. He didn’t really know how to explain his… anger? He wasn’t even sure if it was anger. Maybe it sparked from wanting to always be the dominant one? Maybe it was driven by the desire to steal the formula? Whatever it was, Plankton couldn’t stand it. He had never known SpongeBob to be this way. It was unnatural. It was… different. He knew about SpongeBob’s obsession with Squidward, but to witness it so raw and so close, it was a site to behold.

As if reading his mind, Karen said, “You’re having trouble accepting this, aren’t you?”

Plankton sounded offended. “N-no, I- I don’t care about the kid. He’s none of my concern, I… I just like to keep the natural order of things, I guess.”

“Sounds like you’re having trouble accepting change. You’re so used to the same routine, the same schemes. Change can be good, you know.”

“But this?” he scoffed. “How is this good?”

“I can’t say for sure. Maybe it doesn’t seem good to you, Plankton, but change might be good for the frycook.”

“He becomes a stuck-up pain in the ass and you think that’s good?”

“Like I said, I can’t say for sure. Just go talk to him.”

“Now?” he questioned. “While he’s in there doing his... thing?”

“This present predicament might seem like the worst time to do it, but based on some research and past experiences, I presume the SpongeBob will be vulnerable in this position. Go get ‘im, champ!”

“Wish me luck,” he said flatly.

Plankton clicked off the walkie-talkie and did a full-body shutter. Was he really going to barge in on this revolting performance? Just waltz in all casual-like on the exposed creature? He placed his ear to the door again, his breath catching in his throat. _Let’s just get this over with._

He crawled beneath the door, cringing at the sight again. Bracing himself for the reaction he would receive, he inhaled and screamed “SPONGEBOB!” 

SpongeBob yelped out in surprise, and upon reflex, yeeted a pillow in Plankton’s direction. He drew up the blankets to his nose and squinted at the spot where he had heard the voice. “Stay back. I’m warning you,” he said, his eyebrows furrowed. (Okay, so he doesn’t _technically_ have eyebrows. Yay, new headcanon.)

Plankton grunted and gripped the carpet, pulling his bruised body out from under the large plush. He stumbled to his tiny feet and held his head, doubled over in pain. With a scowl on his face, he looked up at the sponge across the room, who was peering at him from beneath his floral covers. Inconveniently for the small creature, SpongeBob had a means of protection at his bedside, one he knew all too well: the spatula. Yellow fingers reached for the weapon. “Wait!” he hollered, putting out his own hand like a traffic cop. “Don’t squash me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” SpongeBob replied, slowly bringing the covers down so that his whole face could be seen. “You’re trespassing on my property and intruding on my privacy. I think I have every right to use violent measures against you.” 

Damn, he was right. Why hadn’t he thought this through? _Practice precision, Sheldon. This is why you always fail to win._ Stupid computer wife always acting as his conscious. He coughed nervously. “I just want to talk to you, SpongeBob.” He approached him steadily. “Besides, I have no way of defending myself. I didn’t come with laser guns or robots. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“I’m not an idiot!” A fire was burning within him, an anger he had felt the last time Plankton intruded on private property (the Krusty Krab). He took his spatula in one hand and his trusty dictionary in the other. “Keeping thieves off my property does not require me to ensure that fairness is at play. That’s _ludicrous_.”

“Ludicrous, huh. You seriously carry a dictionary with you?”

“When slash if I can, I do,” he admitted, nodding. “Not that it should concern you.”

“Well, I was just going to say that, well, I do the same. It’s uh… not often I meet someone who’s as enthused with… er, vocabulary as I am.” He shrugged, sweat dripping down the side of his forehead.

SpongeBob’s eyes widened, the issue at hand temporarily forgotten. After all, he _was_ SpongeBob. Some things never change. “Oo, what volume do you own?” He sat up, the covers pooling at his waist.

Plankton turned, shielding his eyes. The less he saw of SpongeBob’s naked body, the better. “Volume? I didn’t think there were volumes when it came to dictionaries.”

“Whatever, just tell me which one you own.”

“I, uh… _Bikini Talk 101_?”

SpongeBob’s smile immediately left him. “You’ve gotta be kidding. That’s the worst attempt at a distraction I’ve ever heard. I mean, really. I’ll admit, you had me for a minute or so but then that awful name just t-totally blew it!” He began snickering. “ _Bikini Talk_? The actual barnacles is that? Is that a book about the lower half of a swimsuit? C’mon, Plankton, that was garbage if I’ve ever heard it.”

“It really wasn’t that funny, SpongeBob.”

“Oh, but it was.”

“Nah, not really.”

“You can’t respect my privacy and now you can’t respect my sense of humor? You are _sooo_ out of place here,” he dragged out the syllable. “I’m in here minding my own business, trying to relax on the weekend after a… _grueling_ day of work—”

“Put the stupid dictionary away; you’re not clever.”

“Okay, get the barnacles out,” SpongeBob said, slamming his spatula briskly upon the bed. This created a loud whooshing sound and a piercing clang of metal that made Plankton visibly weak. The small organism was trembling, the color draining out of him in a green puddle at his feet. He was stark white in the face, and his teeth were chattering embarrassingly. SpongeBob grinned at him. On his face was plastered a malevolent smile he bore each time he felt more powerful than a person. His large cheeks creased beneath his eyelids, his teeth protruding from his mouth in its typical goofy fashion. The sponge looked much too excited.

“S-SpongeBob, look, can’t we talk this out?” Plankton stammered. He felt his face get hot. _Am I… Am I f-cking blushing?_ He hated this. F-ck it, he’d admit it: he hated not being in control. SpongeBob should be the one with the red face, lip trembling, but here he was, a derisory little scum, on his knees and begging for the boy’s mercy.

“Talk _what_ out, Plankton? I think you’ve talked enough.” His face was stern, his unwavering smile seemingly stuck in place.

“Could’ya quit grinning all psychotic and whatnot? You’re giving me the creeps.”

“See, this is the issue, Plankton. You’re so demanding.”

“Now you sound like my wife.”

“Good. At least someone in the Plankton family has good common sense.”

Damn, there he went with the wit again. Ferocious. Who knew a sponge, an animal commonly harvested for use as a goddamn kitchen utensil, a trashable, mistreatable thing could be so vicious? It’s like he had this inner sealion that just came out when he got all prideful and stuff. (That, and his “alone time” had been interrupted, and the needy fella hardly got any time to himself, thus why he was peeved.) That is NOT what Plankton had wanted to encounter at all when he’d approached the sponge. Maybe Karen was right, SpongeBob really _wasn’t_ naive anymore. He didn’t play games. He couldn’t be tricked.

Or could he?

“Well, uh, fine then, kid, have it your way. You win, you got me good. I’ll just be leaving. Heh, probably gonna go and pester some other fool. I’ll, uh… just go deliver this… magic box.”

 _Magic box. Magic box. Magic box. Where the hell have I heard that before?_ “Plankton, what the barnacles are you talking about?” he said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. He fashioned a towel from his blanket and wrapped it tightly around his waist out of modesty before hastily crawling out of bed. He approached the intruder and got down on his knees to look him in the eye. “Turn around and answer me, you sorry son of a bivalve.”

A smile quite like the one that had since left SpongeBob’s face appeared on Plankton’s own. He had the high ground now. SpongeBob wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Oh, but you asked me to leave,” Plankton turned around and said, shedding a fake tear and wiping it from beneath his large eye. “I’m nothing but a burden. I’m _trespassing._ ”

“Gosh darn it, this is my home, and I’m telling you right now to not walk out that door.”

“But wouldn’t that be defined as holding me hostage?”

“Plankton, you came here wanting to talk, and I’m giving you the opportunity right now. If you turn down this opportunity, I’m gonna… press charges or something. I’ll let you go by,” he glanced at his dictionary, “ _unscathed_ just this once if you tell me what I want to know. Now what was all this about the magic box?”

Two large fingers pinched the tiny man’s antenna and brought him over to the bed to be set down. “Those better not be the same fingers I saw you using on yourself,” he said, shaking his fist.

SpongeBob sat on the bed and glared down at Plankton, who was beside him. “You’re in no place to be making demands, Mister.” He patted him roughly on the head.

“Alright, I get it. So,” he began, taking a deep breath. “The magic box. I was referring to my tape recorder as Patrick had called it.”

“Y-y-your... tape recorder?” There was a slight shift in his demeanor. “What about it?”

“Oh, nothing much, I merely have audio of you masturbating in my possesion, is all.”

“WHAT?” he choked, slamming his fist down on the bed, causing vibrations to ripple through the mattress and knock Plankton over. This could not be happening. After a rough ending to a tiring afternoon with his best friend, the sponge had hoped to rest and rejuvenate at home and engage in his “Squidward fantasies” in peace, like any normal person would. (Am I right? xD) He’d worked his butt off the night before, and he was cranky. He deserved some serenity, he thought. _Holy kelp, SquarePants, he’s gone too far. You can not let him go without a fight. He has your dignity!_

SpongeBob inhaled deeply, rocking back and forth with his hands gripping his knees. This was not okay and he needed to handle this in the most logical way possible. Plankton was smart, smarter than he’d like to admit. The scum knew how to get to him; he’d done it many times in the past.

“Ahem,” he coughed nervously, trying to control his hysteria. “Plankton, might I ask you _why_ you have me on tape?”

“Simple. To give it to Squidward.”

“Squidward?!” the name couldn’t help but leave his lips in a scream. He pulled at his lower eyelids dramatically, the red and blue veins grotesquely visible on the inner skin. “No, no, no, you _can’t_ do that! What in Neptune’s name makes you think you can do something like that?”

“I have my reasons.”

“But what would Squidward want with those tapes? You don’t even talk to him like that!”

“Like _what,_ SpongeBob? Like you do, fawning over him and flirting with him at every chance you get? No, I _don’t_ talk to him like that,” he spat. “But I do know that he would very much appreciate some good ol’ revenge, something I specialize in, which should come as no surprise. Me and Squidward had a conversation together not long ago about your stuck-up behavior and we’ve decided we want you kicked off the night shift. It’ll be good for you, anyway.”

“Kicked off the night shift?!” His eyes went wide, furious, and the stretched flesh of his ‘lids slapped back into place. “Why do you care? And what the _hell_ does my private business have to do with this?” His vision became blurry and his heart began to beat faster. _Don’t cry, you freaking idiot! Don’t cry! Keep your cool!_

“How do you not already know the answers to these questions, SpongeBob? I thought you’d grown smarter, more mature. I guess maturity doesn’t always mean increased intelligence. That explains your need for that stupid dictionary.”

SpongeBob’s eyes brimmed with tears, his face going dark red. “Oh my gosh, you’re so insensitive. You never think about anybody but yourself!” He sniffed up the trickle of snot that was escaping from his left nostril. 

Plankton, fearing that the boy might (physically) lash out in anger, scooted a few inches in the opposite direction. Shaking his head, he looked up at him to say, “SpongeBob, I’m afraid that’s you. You’re so busy trying to prove yourself all the time, to the point of exhaustion. You’re not thinking properly. Us taking you off the night shift will be to your benefit, kiddo.”

“No, you guys can’t do this!”

“We can and we will. It’s two against one, buddy. Look, like I said, you’re only thinking about yourself. What about Squidward? You love ‘im, right? Then respect the desire that he has to be rid of your presence.” He paused. “Well, that didn’t exactly come out as gently as hoped.”

“Rid of my presence? I was just… flirting with him the last time. Like I usually do. What’s the big deal? A-and Mr. Krabs, he needs someone to watch over the Krusty Krab!”

“No, _you_ ‘need’ to have your picture on the wall. Mr. Tentacles is perfectly capable of running a late-night shift alone. What do you think they did before you started working there? Besides, I know that Eugene does NOT keep his restaurant open twenty-four seven. Not anymore, that is. I’m well aware of your askings to stay late; Squidward mentioned them. To be frank, SpongeBob, you are _literally_ only doing these extra things to try and prove yourself! To who? Yourself?!” His eye caught a glint of light, the evening sun revealing tears to be streaking down the sponge’s face. “Oh, you poor, emotionally disturbed life form.”

SpongeBob could do nothing but cry. What _was_ he trying to prove? To _who_ ? He wanted to work to the best of his ability, to put record-breaking effort into the job he’d trained his whole life for. _What’s so wrong with being the hardest-working person I can be? This is my whole life’s purpose._ He was overcome with sobs, his body convulsing all over. He unscrewed his eyeballs like light bulbs and from the sockets shot a fountain of tears. The tears spilled onto his bed, they spilled onto Plankton, and they spilled onto himself. His body absorbed the salty liquid until he had engorged himself to half the size of the bed. Gargling, he said, “Leave!”

“With the tape?” Plankton, who was wading through a river a tears, asked, somewhat stunned. “A-are you serious?”

“Just get out. You shouldn’t be here.” He shot a blast of water at the small creature, and it swept him under the door.

* * *

“Well, Karen, I didn’t convince him to join us —I doubt he’d be swayed that easily, anyway— but I did manage to bring him to a state of sheer vulnerability. I even managed to record audio of him moaning Squidward’s name. ‘Operation Kick SpongeBob Off The Night Shift’ is NOT a failure!”

“Yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just HOW, exactly, is him saying the cashier’s name going to get him removed from a late hours schedule? If anything, you’ll get in trouble for stalking, doofus.”

Plankton crossed his arms, turning to look at his computer wife. They were in their cozy bedroom, lying in their separate beds, a nightstand dividing them. He had come home from the pineapple not long ago, feeling as accomplished as ever, and he was not going to have his wife nag him during his moment of triumph. “Karen, honey, just leave it to the genius. I know what I’m doing. Look, Squidward wants proof of SpongeBob’s harassment. This is evidence that will help to back up his claim that SpongeBob is constantly making googoo eyes at him.”

“Okay, that’s interesting, I’ll give you that, but Eugene loves that boy. He’ll be more offended at the recording’s existence than at SpongeBob’s actions. He’ll ask Squidward whom he received the tape from. Why would he believe you?”

“Oh, Karen, you’re looking too deep into this; must be your faulty processor. It’s not like Krabs doesn’t trust Squidward… right? He’ll believe him, wouldn’t you think?”

“I don’t, Plankton. You hardly know Squidward. You don’t know how close he and Krabs are. And despite that, based on what we know about his many employee of the month awards, Krabs favors the frycook.”

He sighed. “For once in our lives can you stop picking apart my plans and just encourage me, woman? Look on the bright side or some cheesy shit like that. Search through your unit. I know I implanted you with some ‘encouraging wife’ feature in there somewhere. Or is that only for when we’re having sex?”

“Don’t bring sex into this, Sheldon! This isn’t about me, this isn’t about our intimacy, this is about you and the formula. That’s all. As your wife, I am programmed to love and support you, but I am also very much allowed to criticize you. Maybe if you listened to me more often, you’d get farther in life. I know you don’t like to hear it, but it’s true.”

“Ah, what do you know?” he huffed. “You’re just a computer.”

“I thought I was a ‘solid companion’. And you do know that the root word in the word _computer_ means ‘seem reasonable’, right? Maybe only in certain contexts, but the point still stands.”

Plankton reached over for a small glass of water and brought it to his lips. The cool water poured down his throat and he gulped greedily, a grunt leaving as he swallowed. (Ha, water under water.) The silence in the room lead him to contemplate, and he reveled in the thought of the tape. _That tape is gonna be my ticket to victory! I can practically taste those Krabby Patties,_ he mused, licking his lips. _I can’t wait to see the look on Karen’s monitor when I bring home that blessed glass bottle. She’s gonna be so stunned. And this will all be because of SpongeBob’ sick fantasies! Who'da thunk it?_

The memories from earlier began to infiltrate to the front of his mind, the visions of SpongeBob’s circling fingers dancing through his head like sugar plums. Something about the way he’d been moving had captivated him, to the point where he had nearly forgotten to record his findings. That hadn’t been the initial plan, to catch SpongeBob in the act. The idea was to take advantage of his emotions and manipulate him to quit his job at the Krusty Krab (and begin work at the Chum Bucket). Of course, it was bold to think that SpongeBob would give up so easily what he had worked so hard for, but it was worth the try. Ultimately, Plankton instead found himself using SpongeBob’s own sex drive against him, and it managed to line up with the deal he and Squidward had made regarding kicking the boy off the night shift. _It’s all coming together. Karen worries too much._

His thoughts drifted to other matters. _One thing I’ll never understand is why the kid is so passionate for Squidward. The guy’s an ol’ killjoy, the complete opposite of everything that SpongeBob is about. Or_ was _about, at least. And even before SpongeBob started acting like him, he was infatuated with the guy. It’s no secret that he loves him. But why? I just don’t get it. He was CRAVING his touch! Oh lord, his fingers. Huh, it’s a wonder why sponges even have fingers._ He chuckled. The noise caught Karen’s attention.

“What are you laughing about, Planky?” she asked monotonously. After the conversation they’d just had, hearing a sound of joy come from her husband was peculiar. Plankton laughed all the time, but it was that typical villainous laughter, that classical _muahaha_. This laugh was different. It was lighter. It was genuine, completely unforced.

Plankton sat up and chuckled again. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, mumbling something under his breath. “N-nothing,” he finally said. “I, uh… was just… laughing at the absurdity of it all.” His voice was low.

“Absurdity?” Karen sat up, too, intrigued. “Hm, has Mr. Know-It-All finally come to his senses?”

“It’s not about that, Karen. I’m not worried about the plan, I’m just… I-I’m thinking about earlier a-and I— I dunno,” he faltered. He shook his head, his delicate antennae twitching as they floated side to side with the movement. If he didn’t tell Karen what was on his mind, he’d be dwelling on it all night. Inhaling, he began, “Karen, I don’t know w-what it was about the way SpongeBob was c-conducting himself in his bedroom, but I was… I was fascinated by it, to put it simply. The way his porous flesh twinkled, and the look on his face! Oh, mama…”

Karen just listened attentively, taking in her husband’s lascivious words. “I-It had me gawking,” Plankton continued. “And he was so exposed. And he was b-begging for Squidward. _Begging_ . He writhed with such vehemence. Karen, it did something to me. I know it sounds perverted, but it… turned me on, I guess. I didn’t act on the arousal, though, I just made a few tweaks to the plan, the next thing you know the room’s flooded, and now I’m here. Oh! I-I’m ranting, I’m spieling now, I’m sorry.” The tiny fella grabbed a fistful of blanket and bunched it up in his stubby hands. He felt sick to his stomach. “ _F-ck_ , this isn’t right.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m not angry, if that’s what you’re worried about. You're an adult male with s-xual inclinations. Need I say more?” She let out a light chuckle of her own. “I won’t kinkshame you over this one.”

Plankton smiled. “Aw, how sweet,” he replied, tone full of sarcasm the couple was all too familiar with. That’s just how their relationship was: always teasing and arguing and sarcasm. It was slightly dysfunctional, they had their ups and downs, but ultimately they’d been together for very many years, and had no plans of going their separate ways anytime soon.

He thought about his wife's words. She said she wasn’t angry. His shoulders sank to his sides and he let out a breath he didn't know he’d been holding. “A-and don’t be thinking I’m attracted to that yellow menace or anything. I, uh, it was just what he was _doing_ that I liked.” He gripped the sheets tighter when his wife’s robotic laughter met his ears. “Karen, I swear to god. Stop laughing at me!” He silently thanked Neptune for concealing his blush in the darkness. 

Karen observed her husband. She could make out his features in the darkness, his tiny bean-like figure huddled into his bedsheets and long antennae drooped over. Plankton would display to her a side of him that others seldom saw. Others saw him angry, determined, upset, crazy, all sorts of wacky emotions, but Karen got to see his neediness, the vulnerable side of him that was compelled to cling to her when he was distraught. As Karen thought about this, she was reminded of SpongeBob’s recent demeanor. There was not an emotion that SpongeBob had that he concealed. He’d opened himself up to the world and never saved a certain emotion to share with a particular person. _Maybe the SpongeBob is ashamed of himself, and is hiding it behind a facade of prideful accomplishments. Maybe he feels as though he has allowed himself to be too vulnerable in the public eye._ As, she processed these thoughts, she noticed her husband shift to look at her. She turned on her night vision and was met with his hot, sweaty face, a shaky smile on it.

“Karen, babe,” he said almost reluctantly. “I’m uh… feeling pretty _needy_.” He gave her that look that she just couldn’t resist, with his one red iris expanding to an absurdly adorable size. His lip trembled like a pouting toddler, but he looked like no child. He looked like a man. A hungry man. It was a pathetic display, but one only for the bedroom. This was his safe place. 

A small pang of guilt hit Karen. This is what SpongeBob wanted, he wanted an intimate and fulfilling relationship. The poor boy, deprived, had tried to self-satisfy in the privacy of his own bedroom but was rudely interrupted. Something about that just didn’t seem right. (That’s because it wasn’t!) She’d dwell on it later, however, as she had a horny hubby to attend to.


	5. Hoping and Moping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SpongeBob deals with feelings of betrayal and rejection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the derogatory language used in this chapter. Some scenes in this chapter depict SpongeBob being ridiculed for his sexuality and just being bullied in general, so I felt as though strong language would help set the tone.
> 
> Vomit and the act of throwing up is also frequently present in this chapter.

**~Chapter 5: Hoping and Moping~**

* * *

SpongeBob was reclined back in a chair, basking in the sun, relaxing on his front lawn. He was thumbing through a book, his dictionary, to be exact, when he thought he could hear the faint puckering of tentacles. He knew that squashy sound anywhere. Lowering his spectacles, he peered down the right end of the street. Sure enough, it was Squidward in the distance. He was jogging, and he held a small object in his hand. His face was dotted with beads of sweat and he wore an out of character smile.

Heart fluttering in his chest, SpongeBob shakily raised his hand to wave to the octopus, knowing he wouldn’t return the gesture. Squidward looked as though he was on a mission, his thin legs carrying him down the road at a steady pace. As he passed by, SpongeBob caught sight of what was in Squidward’s hand. The tape.

Immediately, panic kicked in. He swung his feet over the edge of the chair and got up, hastily folding his reading glasses and setting them down on the empty chair along with his dictionary. He ran as quickly as his feet -which were fitted in a pair of black sandals- could carry him. “Squidward,” he called, chasing after him. “Hold up, pal!”

Squidward screeched to a halt, a cloud of dust billowing from where he had planted his feet. He whipped his head around to look at SpongeBob, his neck cracking. “What do you want?”

SpongeBob gasped, nearly tripping backwards. A look of horror befell him, his mouth agape. Two cold, dark eyes were staring into his. They were opened unnaturally wide and looked him up and down, a certain unsettling excitement in them. There was something about the way Squidward was looking at him that made SpongeBob shutter. He didn’t like this. “G-gee, Squidward, I uh… was just wondering wh-where you were h-headed?”

“To the Krusty Krab,” Squidward replied, his smile still stretched across his face. Giving an emotionless laugh, he added, “Where you’ll be working no longer.”

“Holy f-cking _fishpaste,_ ” SpongeBob squeaked, not a bit concerned with his profanity. “Neptune-damnit, no! Y-you listened to the… the tape?” He limply gestured toward the thin box wrapped in his tentacle. 

Squidward’s smile immediately left his face, a certain darkness coming about him. “Yes I did, you perverted little piece of _shit!_ YOU ARE SO F-CKING REPULSIVE!” he screamed, his eyes turning a deep shade of red. “You sick faggot! After hearing that tape, my stomach churns just THINKING of you!” He began retching. Thick, bubbly vomit poured out of his mouth. It seeped through the corners of his eyes and spilled down his face like tears. It was tar black like ink, and it puddled around SpongeBob’s feet, rendering the boy unable to move. As SpongeBob screamed and fought, Squidward continued to heave the acidic substance from within him. It spewed from his nose, it spewed from in between his legs. From every orifice in his body, it oozed.

SpongeBob tried to move his feet, but he was stuck in place, only inches apart from this devilish creature that was supposed to be Squidward: his neighbor, co-worker, and crush. He thought to pull his toes out from the straps of his sandals, but the vomit had risen to above his ankles, and was only rising higher. It should’ve been impossible: they weren’t standing in an enclosed space. The vomit should have been pooling outwards, not rising upwards. 

The sounds of Squidward’s retching was reminiscent of metal being scraped, nails on a chalkboard, or screams from the depths of hell! It kept getting louder and louder, until the point where it was louder than SpongeBob’s cries of pain and terror. “Please, Squidward!” he said when tentacles began to wrap tightly around his waist. “I’m so sorry! Please don’t hurt me, please!”

“But I thought you wanted this,” Squidward said hoarsely, coughing up the last of the gooey barf. He looked SpongeBob over, satisfied with his work. The sponge was up to his knees in the stuff, sniveling and begging for mercy, with his hands folded in a position of prayer. He took a tentacle and trailed it down the sponge’s burning face, pinching his cheek like an old lady would. Approaching SpongeBob more closely, he cupped both sides of his square head in his tentacles, squeezing at the yellow flesh. He ran a suction cup across the ridges along the top of his head. He sniggered when he noticed SpongeBob biting his lip, perhaps in pain or perhaps in pleasure. “Open your eyes.”

SpongeBob did as he was told, albeit reluctantly. He was met with Squidward’s face disturbingly close to his own. Dark vomit dribbled down his chin, the smell pungent. It caused the sponge to want to expel his own, that’s how awful it smelled. His hands instinctively flew to his nose. 

“Remove your hands,” Squidward hissed, jerking SpongeBob’s face closer. The sponge lowered his hands back down to his sides, flinching when Squidward ran a suction cup across his lower lip. He pinched at the pink-tainted flesh, licking his lips at the sight of the boy’s. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” he said before slamming his face into the other’s. He pressed in deeply, snaking his long tongue down his throat. The taste was awful in SpongeBob’s mouth, but he didn’t fight it. He couldn’t, he was stuck, and it would be terribly unwise to fight with this… thing.

SpongeBob began coughing and sputtering. He grabbed at Squidward’s face, squeezing at whatever he could to try and deter Squidward from advancing on him any further. The disgusting tongue was violently playing with his uvula, knocking it around in the back of his mouth like a punching bag, stimulating his gag reflex. A few tentacles tightened around his waist and were beginning to snake into his pants. SpongeBob screamed, muffled beneath the other’s lips. Squidward took it for a moan.

Squidward loosened his grip and stepped back, smiling. “You like that, don’t you?” he said, venom is his voice. “Was that your first kiss, Sponge?”

SpongeBob stood slumped over, his arms hanging weakly at his sides, and his mouth spotted with the ink-colored substance that had made its way down his throat during the kiss. He looked up, his face dark. “No, actually. My first kiss was with Sandy. And it was fully consented.”

“Is that sass I hear?” he said, spitting at his face. “Who do you think you are?” He snatched SpongeBob up by the tie and yanked roughly, causing him to choke. SpongeBob gripped at his neck gasping for breath (water). “Squid—” he squeaked. His legs were being pulled forwards and his knees caved inwards in a terribly uncomfortable position. The vomit had hardened around his legs, rendering him completely immobile from the calves down. “H-holy shrimp, S-Squid. I” —he gagged— “I can’t- It hurts! It hurts like hell. O-oh my g-gosh!”

Squidward continued to tug on the tie, staring blankly at SpongeBob’s display of infirmity. He licked his black-stained lips at the sight. SpongeBob looked so weak with his cheeks turning red and his eyes bugging, tears shooting from them like a hose. His entire body was blotted with revolting chunks of inky color, his shirt was wrinkled and untucked, his legs were caked in puke, and his face was twisted in frustrated pain. Squidward noticed something about his body, getting closer to take a look. He fingered ( _tentacled_ , if you prefer) one of the pores on the side of SpongeBob’s face, squinting at it. It was expanding and contracting and producing some sort of sticky liquid. “What’s this?” he asked, rolling the stuff between two suction cups. He let up on his grip, allowing SpongeBob some water.

SpongeBob cringed, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. Squidward could have his way with him, but he was not going to be made to talk and explain his goddamn _biology_ . No, he had to save _some_ of his dignity! He stayed silent, body spasming from Squidward’s fondling touch.

Squidward’s clement touch became violent blows when he did not get a response from SpongeBob. “Answer me!” he screamed, mouth open wide to reveal deathly sharp teeth.

“SPERM! It’s f-cking _sperm,_ are you f-cking _happy_?!” SpongeBob almost couldn’t believe the words that were leaving his mouth, and was even more befuddled when the atmosphere around him grew dark. The light of the hot, mid-morning sun began to fade away until the only thing that was glowing was a spotlight shining down upon the two creatures.

The octopus got down on all sixes, crawling around on the ground like something out of a horror movie. He slithered his way behind the trembling body of his victim, smirking. He looked at the belt that held the square pants up and reached for it. “Shut up,” he barked as he was slipping it through the loops in the pants. SpongeBob was begging again. At first it was arousing, but it was slowly becoming a nuisance. “Shut up, you worthless prick.” He squeezed SpongeBob’s hips, warning him to silence himself, but using just enough pressure to suggest something more tantalizing.

SpongeBob whined, feeling a tentacle slip into a pore on his lower back. He gritted his teeth, hissing when the intruder started pumping in and out slowly. The sound was awkward and wet. “Oh, oh b- _barnacles._ ” Another tentacle pressed into his left hip, rubbing the outside of one of his openings. A third tentacle was attending to his pants, slowly pulling them down. The garment could only go down but so far, as his paralized legs were hindering it from slipping off. Nevertheless, SpongeBob’s underwear was still exposed to Squidward, and it caused his face to redden even deeper. “Squidward, p-please don’t d-do what I think you’re going to do!”

“I WILL DO AS I PLEASE!” The world turned even murkier, the dim light fizzling out into total darkness. An intense heat began to burn around them, the source completely invisible. The sponge was sweating bullets, the ink, sperm, and perspiration dripping down his body in a disgusting, salty mix. Squidward gripped the waistband of the sponge’s briefs and, in one swift movement, pulled them down to set within the boxy pants around his knees. SpongeBob squeaked, feeling the cold water filter through now exposed pores. Squidward placed his head on SpongeBob’s tiny shoulder and licked the side of his face. “You look delicious.”

SpongeBob grunted, beyond embarrassed. “How can you see in here? I-It’s pitch black. I… I can’t see you at all!”

“You don’t need to.”

“AH!” A tentacle was squeezing at his backside, spreading his cheeks wide apart, so that Squidward could access his target. “HEY, STOP!” SpongeBob screamed, attempting to reach behind him and punch, but to no avail. He could feel a suction cup tracing his entrance, causing it to pucker. He began flailing wildly when he felt himself begin to open up. “GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Squidward pressed his lips against his ear hole and whispered, “Don’t give me orders, you _derisory little scum_.”

* * *

The honking of the foghorn alarm rang throughout the bedroom, blaring directly into SpongeBob’s ear. He tumbled out of bed in a tussle, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Holy— Fr-freaking OH MY GOSH!” His heart was pounding in his chest and he could hear his pulse pounding in his head. He was hit with a splitting headache, and his veins were running cold, just like his sweat. Nausea came upon him, and his eyes went wide in panic. “G-Gary, move!” he choked, shooing his snail away. “Get the- get the trash bin.” His stomach churned and vomit rose in his throat. _Vomit._ The dreams from last night began to flood vividly.

“Meow?” Gary came around the bedside with the can, setting it down in front of his owner, who was twisted up in his purple blanket. He watched with beady eyes as the sponge heaved into the trash. Gary didn’t recall SpongeBob being sick. He was confused and concerned, whimpering. “M-meow meow?”

“I don’t need _ginger ale_ !” he said between teeth. “It’s- it’s nothing.” The terrible sounds of his retching were almost louder than the alarm that still honked stupidly. He slammed his fist down upon the button that turned it off, coughing. Last night’s dinner tasted disgusting coming back up. Who knew sea chicken noodle soup could taste so _awful_? 

It didn’t help that Gary just sat there meowing, bothering him about soda and crackers. _Could he get the barnacles out of here?_ SpongeBob thought. _I don’t wanna be mad at him, but he can NOT see me like this._ “Gary, I need to be alone right now,” he choked out, immediately throwing up. Some of the whitish-yellow liquid spilled onto the floor, missing the can. He couldn’t control his body; it just wouldn’t stop pumping his stomach contents up his throat and out his mouth. His sides began to hurt and tears were falling from his eyes.

“Meow.”

“Gary, I said leave!”

“Meow me—”

“Gerald the sn-” —he coughed— “the snail, I said get the heck out!” SpongeBob shakily but hastily untangled himself from the blanket and climbed up onto his bed to look at the clock on his alarm. Holy hell!: he was late. It was Monday and he was LATE! He ran circles around his room in panic, pulling at the sides of his head as if he had hair. “Crud, I need to get a shower, Gary! I mean, look at me.” He swiped the inside of a pore on his forehead, squishing the goo between his fingers. “I can’t go like this. I’m leaking _baby juice_ for Neptune’s sake!”

Gary stuck out his tongue in disgust, looking flustered. He felt it was quite awkward to see his beloved owner is such an animalistic state, though he was used to it. He just hadn’t seen SpongeBob look so disheveled in a long, long while. He usually had it all together. Now he was dripping sp-rm and puke and late to work. Who was this guy? Gary couldn’t help but chuckle. “Meow meow.”

“Okay, so ‘baby juice’ was a silly thing to call it, but still… I’m freaking _late_ , Gary. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go wash up.” He stumbled out of the room, wiping his mouth. Today was gonna be a long day. “Fishpaste, I’m gonna be late!”

Gary cocked his head. “...Meow?”

He showered quickly. The water was turned on, the soap was lathered, and his body was clean in less than five minutes. He stepped out of the shower, sniffling. He’d cried while he was in there. Last night’s dream was wild, too wild. It was like no fantasy that had ever crossed his mind. It was brutal, it was intense. It was scary and it was unpleasant. SpongeBob didn’t think he’d ever be able to masturbate again without those thoughts crossing his mind. (Such tragedy! xD Sorry, this shouldn’t be funny.)

He scurried down the street, breathing heavily. He still felt awful and a little nauseous, but he could not afford to miss work, even if he was already late. This was the same sponge that came to work with the suds and performed his duties while his beloved pet was missing. A little nausea and a scarring night terror never hurt anyone, right? (Wrong!)

The Krusty Krab came into view and SpongeBob’s breath caught in his throat. _Barnacles._ Squidward would be there. All the panic of getting ready had temporarily driven the thought from his mind. What if Plankton had given Squidward the tape over the weekend? What if MR. KRABS had heard it already? And then a certain thought dawned on him…

_Oh my Neptune. What will Mr. Krabs think of me when he sees me after hearing that?_ he pondered as he continued to walk down the road. _He’s so much like a father to me, for him to hear that would be beyond humiliating. How am I gonna explain myself? He’s gonna be so ashamed! I’ve failed him…_

For a moment, SpongeBob stopped in his tracks and thought about going back, going home. He thought about how much easier things might turn out to be if he were to simply go back to his cozy pineapple and just take a sick day for once in his life. He used sick days so scarcely, he swore he had at least a month’s worth of them he could be using. —And this was from a job which barely even yielded him the privilege of a _lunch break_.

SpongeBob shook his head. “No, no I _have_ to go to work,” he decided. He puffed up his chest and gripped his spatula tightly. He never left his spatula at work anymore. He took it with him wherever he went, as a source of comfort and protection. His fingers wrapped around the spatula, his yellow knuckles turning white. He could do this. He could do this. “I can do this!” He pumped a fist into the air courageously.

After a minute or so of sprinting, he found himself on the small path that led to the front door of the Krusty Krab. His whole body was trembling, and he let out a shaky sigh. This building in front of him was the restaurant that he had come to call his second home, but he felt something like a foreigner. He scanned the building, his eyes darting around the area. Was he really going to go in there after all the nonsense that had occured that weekend? Besides, he felt like he was going to throw up again. _I should probably just go home._ Reluctantly, he turned away from the large building, shielding his eyes from its old wooden frame. He loved the Krusty Krab and he wanted to go inside, but he couldn’t bare the thought of feeling uncomfortable in there. It wouldn’t feel right. But then again, if he were to go home, he’d feel even more awkward returning the next day. If Plankton hadn’t handed over the tape yet, he would be a-okay, but should he choose to wait another day, that would only give Plankton more time to do something he may not have already done.

SpongeBob turned back around, growling and charging towards the front door, tears in his eyes. He was NOT going to go home! He was gonna go in there, march straight to the manager, look ‘im straight in the eye, lay it on the line and… (I can’t _write_ this! Heh. Can I get a woot-woot for Season 1, Help Wanted, everybody?)

He pressed his face up against the glass and peered into the dimly lit restaurant. There was not a single creature inside, save for a pesky sea urchin that was searching the tables for crumbs. Where was everybody? SpongeBob wondered. _Man, I really do keep this place running. I guess nowadays, if I don’t show up on time, then this place falls apart. I am SO important._ A smile touched his lips, but left immediately when his eye caught sight of a sign to his right. It was a slice of white, wooden board, with big bold letters that read: C L O S E D.

SpongeBob stepped back, legs wobbly. How could he be so stupid?

Today was Sunday.

_You freaking idiot!_ He stepped backwards further, tripping and landing on his butt when he noticed the sign beside it: “Help Wanted”. The words hit him like a pound of bricks and he felt as though he had the wind knocked out of him. He shuttered, sitting up and staring at the letters. Magically, they came off the sign and swirled around his head, the big black font warping and growing in size. They stretched around his throat and began to squeeze him, rendering him unable to breathe. SpongeBob gagged, pulling at his neck. _Help! Somebody help me!_ He was unable to scream.

Some time later, he awoke. He had passed out. The letters choking him to death was a mere hallucination, but boy, had it felt real. The sponge was covered in sand, his outfit dusty and dirty. “Aughhhhhh!” he inhaled, springing to life. He placed his hands on the ground and pushed himself up, onto his knees. He straightened his legs, attempting to stand himself up but instead falling back on his butt like he had done not long ago. He rubbed his eyes and his vision cleared. There was that sign. That cursed sign.

He gritted his teeth and slammed his fists into the ground and screamed, “Tartar sauce!” A flame ignited in his pupils and he leapt to his feet, eyes brimming with tears. “Fifteen years! Fifteen years of my life here and they’re gonna fire me, just like that?! They didn’t even do it PROFESSIONALLY! Oh- oh, my gosh.” The nausea from earlier returned to him and he clutched his stomach, throwing up right then and there, off the side of the path. He looked at the beloved workplace, overcome with hatred. He couldn’t believe this. Were all those employee of the month awards for naught? Had all his sleepless nights paid off? ...No. No, they hadn’t. He worked the night shift for _no extra pay._ Maybe Krabs really was a cheap-ass bastard. Maybe SpongeBob _wasn’t_ the son he never had. Maybe that’s because Krabs _never_ had a son.

_So I’m just an object, then?_ SpongeBob thought bitterly. _I’m just something that can be used many times and then just, y’know, tossed out at will like some sort of garbage, even though that object PROBABLY STILL HAS SOME USE LEFT IN IT! It’s kinda like that couch I used to own. It still functioned, it performed as good as any couch should perform, but I decided that, well, I wanted a new couch. I wanted a couch that I thought would be BETTER FOR THE DAMN JOB! That is this situation right now. I’m a couch, I’m a freaking couch. Everyone loves a comfortable couch, but nobody likes a couch that stands out and goes ABOVE AND BEYOND, AND BREAKS THEIR BACK DOING WORK THAT NO ONE TRULY APPRECIATES, OH MY_ “GOSH!” he ended up screaming the last word.

He felt so betrayed. Every morning during the work week he’d wake up and smile, his alarm rousing him from his slumber and sending a rush of adrenaline through his system. He was so excited to start each day at the Krusty Krab. The new job jitters never really went away. He still felt like that eighteen-year old, his best friend by his side, leaping into the air and shouting “I’m ready!” after a much-needed pep talk. He still was willing to “throw [himself] in the brig”, and would without a doubt buy a hydrodynamic spatula (with port-and-starboard attachments and turbo drive) again if need be. SpongeBob had put his reputation in jeopardy, his life on the line, his time, talent, and treasure wholeheartedly into the Krusty Krab. How dare they take that away from him! How dare they treat him like a couch! _I’m a Neptune-damn sofa._

He sunk back down onto the ground, on the dirty cement. (Or is it black sand?) He turned his head in both directions. No one was around. It was calm outside, very quiet, and he looked up to see that the flower clouds were growing in number. Perhaps it was going to storm. “Just great!” he cried up at the sky. “Perfect timing, Neptune! You’re doing me a real goddamn favor up there. PUN INTENDED!”

_*Boom!*_

“Barnacles!” A bolt of lightning crackled in the distance, striking the ocean floor. SpongeBob could see a flash of brightness, and the sound rippled through the ocean, causing immense waves on the surface. SpongeBob squinted and could see the bubbles forming above, right near the spot that the bolt had come through. He shivered, rubbing at his arms. There was no way he was staying outside any longer. It wasn’t safe. _Note to self: Don’t piss off the god of the sea._

He got up and brushed off his pants, looking down at his outfit with a frown. He’d just taken it to the drycleaners not long ago. _Ugh_ . He took his fingers and flicked off the grains of sand that still clung to him. His hand brushed by a grease stain on his shirt, and he stared at it, eyes red and glossy. _Krabby Patties…_ he mused. 

As he shakily unlocked the door of the Krusty Krab, cursing and nearly dropping the key that was engraved with the letters “KK”, it hit him even harder: If Mr. Krabs was seriously looking for a new employee, if SpongeBob really _was_ being fired, then he would have to give up his right to enter the Krusty Krab at will. He wouldn’t get to count the sesame seeds, or mop the ceiling, or rub the pickles together to make that tiny squeaky sound anymore. He wouldn’t get to sit in that comfy office chair of his boss’, or clean the grill, give the walls a fresh coat of paint, swab the poop deck, or carve ice sculptures of Squidward in the back of the freezer. It was like being evicted from a rental house! The Krusty Krab was his home away from home, his favorite place in the world, the place where he was his happiest and could perform his greatest. Here is where he found his purpose, here is where he experienced big events and changes in his life, here is where he always wanted to stay and never wanted to leave. It was SpongeBob’s version of heaven.

Growing up, SpongeBob was always a hard worker. He aced his classes in school, and was always eager to advance in his studies; he was a bit of a nerd. He wanted a job that tested his limits, a job that pushed him to constantly do better. From a tender age, he had always been fascinated with culinary arts, and his bright spirit drove him to please people. He’s a workaholic people-pleaser at heart.

“I’ve been training my whole life for the day I could join the Krusty crew!” were the proud words he boomed in that deep, manly voice of his all those years ago. SpongeBob had his sights set early. Instead of college, his parents got him interested in finding a career in fast food, at least temporarily. They weren’t all that rich, so college was not the most favorable option. “If you find you like the job, Bobby, you can keep it,” his parents told him. “We want what’s best for you.” And SpongeBob loved the idea! His parents used to eat at the Krusty Krab since before he was born. “Wouldn’t it be the most amazing thing to see our son cooking at the restaurant we’ve loved for years?”

SpongeBob closed the doors of the Krusty Krab and leaned up against the glass. Groaning, he slid down and collapsed on the floor with his knees to chest. His spatula fell from his pocket and clattered beside him, and he swiped it away with his hand, watching it spin around noisily before hitting the cashier boat a few feet away. Tucking his head between his legs, he started to cry.

It was Sunday; nobody would come by. He was free to do as he pleased. He was free to cry, he was free to scream, he was free to reminisce in his thoughts, his memories. And so that’s what he did:

* * *

_Middle school, age 13_

Pleasant scents billowed out from the bustling after-school cooking club, filling the hallway with smells of onions and spices. Joyful chatter was spilling out through the doorway, as well as bright light. 

SpongeBob was the center of attention as he performed in the kitchen area. His arms flew around wildly in front of a large table, creating the illusion that he had multiple arms. They grasped pots and pans, cups and bowls, and mixed things together at a pace the club leaders had never seen from a kid before. Chopped carrots flew into a crockpot, as well as beans, oregano, and tomato juice. In no time, a delicious soup had been prepared. Now all it had to do was boil.

Applause erupted through the small room, with fellow classmates jumping up and down and teachers whistling.

“Amazing job, Robert!” said one of the adults, squealing. She walked over to the crockpot and lifted the lid, dipping a plastic spoon in to taste the contents. She slurped it up quickly and smacked her lips. “Oh, my. This is delectable.”

Another adult took a taste and smiled. “You’re going places in life, Rob,” he declared, raising his spoon. “It’s not quite fully cooked yet, but gather around students, you’ve got to get a taste of this. This is the work of a true chef.”

SpongeBob beamed, blushing. He twiddled his thumbs, rocking back and forth bashfully. “Gee, you guys. You’re way too kind to me.” A sigh escaped him. He knew this is where he wanted to be. This is what he wanted to do in life.

Patrick got in line for the soup, bouncing back and forth eagerly. Why he was in the cooking club wasn’t much of a mystery, actually. Sure, cooking was not his talent, nor one of his interests, but he was there to support his buddy. (Okay, so maybe he was more there for the free food and less for SpongeBob, but still…) He dipped his utensil into the soup, bringing a large spoonful of vegetables to his mouth. With his cheeks full, he said, “SpongeBob, this tastes great!” and he hesitated to ask for seconds.

A green fish, large for his age, came up to SpongeBob, his body jiggling with every step. He adjusted his glasses on his non-existent nose and looked down at the future chef with a sneer. “It tastes _okay_ , I suppose, but I would’ve liked to have tasted some _pickles._ ”

SpongeBob rolled his eyes. _Ugh. Bubble Bass._ “Let’s talk,” he said, giving up his place behind the kitchen table and walking over to one of the tiny lunch tables. He crossed his arms, watching as his rival took a seat on the other side, facing him. “Look, Bubble Bass, what do you want from me?”

“I only want you to cook something _decent_ for once,” he snorted.

“I have, Bubble Bass. But what have you done? All I’ve seen you do is eat.”

“What’s wrong with that? Your pink boyfriend over there does the same thing,” he said, pointing.

SpongeBob glowered, and his teeth dug into his lower lip. “ _Patrick_ is actually here to support me. _As a friend_ . And not even that, but at least he actually _tries_ to cook. What do you do Bubble Bass, huh?”

“I’ve cooked in here before. I’m not just straight up mooching off of the place. C’mon, cut me some slack.”

“No, you need to cut _me_ some slack. The most I’ve seen you make is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!”

“So? It’s still cooking. Just because some people can’t perform _miracles_ like you can, doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of being here.”

“Oh my _gosh_ . What you do isn’t _cooking_!” He threw up his hands, exasperated. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, dude, I’m just telling you the facts. You’re not an aspiring cook. You’re only here to feed your face.”

“That’s bullshrimp!” Bubble Bass abruptly stood up and slammed his fist on the table. “You’re a freaking suck-up, Rob! Stop bragging about your accomplishments.”

“Bragging?! Wh—”

“Mrs. Fishpole! Robert’s over here being all rude and stuff about that soup he made. He’s talking about other people, saying how bad their cooking is,” he cried, making a scene.

SpongeBob gulped. All eyes were on him, and most looked very angry. His face turned a bright red and he wanted to protest, but he didn’t. He couldn’t find the words. The spotlight was on him for the second time that day, but this time had been nothing like the first.

Bubble Bass walked around the table to rejoin the group of students, who’s eyes were like daggers as they glared at SpongeBob.

“ _Prude_ ,” he whispered, as he passed by the sponge.

* * *

_High school, age 16_

“So, where do _you_ wanna go to college?” a snide voice said.

“Yeah, where you tryna go, _Robert?_ ” another sneered. This voice belonged to a relatively tall fish, with an average build. He had a grey complexion, tar black and very shaggy hair, and blue lips and fins. His eyes were a bit red, and under them, SpongeBob swore there was always a bit of dark eyeshadow. He wore a dark brown leather jacket, and beneath it were layers of differently-shaded white shirts. To complete his outfit, he sported a pair of tall black boots, presumably to make him look tougher.

SpongeBob frowned, adjusting a strap on his backpack and clutching his books to his chest. He was classically backed against a locker in the hallway, and the two fish were standing directly in front of him. Crowds of students passed them by, and SpongeBob struggled to speak over the noise. “I- I’m really not sure yet. I’m just more focused on what’s in the now, y’know?”

“What are you, some sort of a hippie?” the other (who was dressed similarly to the grey fish) asked, brushing his blonde hair from his face and jabbing his bud in the arm, chuckling. “Am I right, Jake?”

SpongeBob observed the two guffaw hoarsely, shaking his head in disappointment. He noticed the gravel in their voice and assumed they’d been smoking. He didn’t _want_ to hang around kids like this, but they forced themselves into his life. “You’re really not that funny, Chaz.” He hugged his books tightly, flinching in fear that the two might lash out with cruel words.

“Yo, I think you need to stop,” Jake hissed. “You don’t tell my bro anything. All we asked was where the hell you were tryna go to college. It’s coming soon, y’know. Just wanted to know where nerds like you go after high school, is all. Didn’t need all your smart mouth.” He crossed his arms, glancing over at Chaz who held the same stance.

“Sorry, I…” SpongeBob sighed. “Fellas, look, honestly I’m not really sure about college. My parents were telling me how great of a cook I am. I dunno, I thought maybe I’d just dabble in the fast food game for a bit and try to get my sea legs early on. I wanna get a taste of what it’s like to cook for people, what it’s like to receive a paycheck. Y’know?”

Chaz jabbed a pointed fin down his throat and pretended to wretch. “Poetic much?”

“Um, _retarded_ much?” said Jake, looking into the sponge’s glazed eyes. “Good luck with that, idiot. Who the f-ck actually _willingly_ wants to work at a fast food restaurant? Idiot…”

SpongeBob chewed his lip, looking ancy. All he wanted was to get to class, but he could tell that Chaz and Jake weren’t going to let him go just yet. “S-so, uh, you guys done, or—?”

“How’s the girlfriend?”

His shoulders rose and he tensed up. “Huh? What girlfriend?”

“I heard you finally started dating,” Jake explained. “So, how is she? What’s she look like? Is she ugly? She’s ugly, ain’t she? Ha! It’s that anglerfish chic, ain’t it? She’s _nasty_. Though, I gotta admit, I’m damn surprised that you scored a female _at all._ ”

SpongeBob’s face was beginning to heat up. “I don’t know where you heard this info, fellas, but I’m honestly not dating anyone right now. Just haven’t found the right one.”

“Probably never will,” Chaz said, laughing. “You look like a neptunedamn freshmen, and on top of that, what girl would wanna get her p-ssy eat with those massive teeth of your’s?”

Jake slapped his friend on the back, nodding his head. “Heh, yeah. And not even just that, but I think he’s a faggot.”

A light gasp escaped the sponge’s lips and his expression was the definition of _appalled_ . His mouth hung agape and he felt as though he couldn’t speak. All of sudden, his books felt so much heavier, and his backpack felt as though it was pulling him down. “S-stop talking to me like I’m not st-standing right here!” His eyes welled up with tears. He’d never been called… _that_ before in his entire life. (At least, not to his face.)

Jake smiled viciously and placed his arms on either side of the sponge, leaning in close enough so that his face was only inches from his. “Is this better, Robert?” His warm breath hit him in the face, and he chuckled when the sponge wrinkled his nose. “You like me all up close to you, dont’cha? You like all this _masculine energy_ all close to your puny body. You wanna kiss me, huh? Do it! Do it, you p-ssy.”

“Yo, Jake, you can’t put your hands on ‘im,” Chaz warned. “Plus, now _you_ sound kinda gay.”

Jake looked offended, and a fire burned behind his eyes. He removed his arms immediately and glared at the blonde, his fins forming into angry fists. “Ey, Chaz, I get it.” He shoved him, not too aggressively. “No need for the remarks. I’m not f-cking gay, man. You’re nasty, man.”

Chaz shrugged.

“Let’s get out of here.” The grey fish grabbed his friend’s fin and pulled him through the hallway to class, leaving SpongeBob to cry by the lockers.

* * *

_Harold and Margaret’s home, age 18_

“Happy birthday, Robert!”

“Happy birthday, son!”

It was SpongeBob’s birthday, and his parents were celebrating his journey to and through adulthood. A small get together had been thrown, and his numerous cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents had been invited. And of course, it wouldn’t have been a party without Patrick.

“Thank you, guys,” SpongeBob said, seated at a table and looking down hungrily at the cake being set before him. It was a pretty blue and yellow cake, topped with rainbow sprinkles, and complete with a large candle in the shape of the number eighteen. “This cake is beautiful. Thanks, mom!”

She smiled. “You’re welcome, honey.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” his father joked, tipping his hat. He patted his son on the shoulder before flipping the light switch. The underwater flame from the candle lit the room in a gentle, orange glow. He looked around at the room full of family and friends. “It’s time to sing to Robert! You all ready?”

“H-hold on, everybody,” SpongeBob faltered, raising his hands. He looked at his father and mother, and they nodded. He had something to say, and they wanted the whole family to be on board. “I wanna thank you all so much for showing up for my eighteenth birthday. Can you believe I’ve hit this milestone already?” He chuckled at the yes’s and no’s he received. “I’m so happy to be here with you all, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You mean a whole lot to me. But before all the beautiful singing, I’d like to tell you all that, well, I’m done with the name _Robert._ ”

“Woah, there, lil’ Bobby!” said Uncle Cap’n Blue, coming around the table to approach him. He chuckled, in a way that sounded less amused and more concerned. Roughly patting SpongeBob on the back, he asked him, “You aren’t tryna be some sort of a, y’know, one of them folks who changes their gender and stuff, I hope?”

“He does like to paint his nails!” Patrick laughed.

SpongeBob’s face went red. “No, no, it’s not like that! I’m just done with the name everybody knows me by; I’m done with Robert SquarePants. It feels more like a burden than a name. I want a fresh start to a fresh new stage of life.” He breathed out, smiling as he looked around the room. Everyone was nodding and smiling with him. “Does anyone remember when Mom and Pop used to call me _SpongeBob_?”

Cousin Blackjack snorted. “Yeah, and it was dumb.”

“Blackjack, no!” his mother scolded him, wagging a finger. “Sorry, hun. Go on, Rob— I mean… So you’d like us to call you SpongeBob then, is that it?”

“Yes, Auntie,” SpongeBob replied. “For me, I feel like the name _SpongeBob_ just reminds me of happier, less stressful times in life. It also makes me feel unique. No one else in the family has our species in their first name.”

Stanley raised his hand to object. “Actually, Rob, I think one of our ancestors _did_ have ‘sponge’ in their name. I think his name was SpongeBuck or something.” 

“You may be right,” said Uncle Sherm, ruffling his son’s hair, ignoring his protests against it.

SpongeBob shrugged. “Well, I may not be the most unique, but I’d still feel fresh and new, and honestly it just kinda feels… Barnacles, what’s the word? Nostalgic? Sentimental? I dunno.”

His mother and father walked around to both sides of him and held his hands tightly. “We called you ‘SpongeBob’ because you said you thought it sounded cool,” his mother tenderly spoke. “It’s a name you used to love when you were little. So did everyone else, they thought it sounded so neat. Eventually, when you started attending school, the school required you to use your given name, so _SpongeBob_ just kinda died out.”

“You got older and you thought it was childish,” his father added. “You also hated having to write out such a long name on paper. You were a hoot! You walked through the door one day and said ‘Poppa, I can’t do this anymore! My hand’s cramping!’ Oh, it was priceless.”

“So eventually we just started calling you Robert again,” his mother continued. “I picked that name out before your birth, and your father took a strong liking towards it. It’s the name on your birth certificate; it’ll always be part of your identity. But honey, if you seriously are considering getting your name changed, we can go through some governmental processes and whatnot and get you all sorted out.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Would you like for us to do that, _SpongeBob?_ ”

He smiled, tears in his eyes. “Yes, yes! Absolutely! Thank you Mom, thank you Pop.” He hugged both of them tightly, and before he knew it, he was surrounded by the whole party. “I would love that so much. It’s all I ask for my birthday. You don’t even have to get me that weight kit I wanted, the one that comes with that neat-o ‘I Heart Pain’ banner.”

“Too late!” Blackjack laughed. “We already bought it for ya!”

“Oh, way to spoil the surprise, BJ!” His mother slapped him in the back of the head, and he yelped.

“Hey, what’d you do that for, Ma?” 

SpongeBob broke the hug and looked down, staring at the cake and wriggling his fingers in anticipation. His taste buds lusted over the beautiful dessert. “Welp, I’m starved! I’d be flattered if you guys wanna start singing now?” he suggested, blushing. He was not one for asking people to do things for him.

“Sure, we can sing!” Harold took a breath, and began. “Happy birthday to you…”

Everyone joined in and began to belt it out:

_~Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday, dear SPONGEBOB!_ (Patrick screamed his name, not unexpectedly.)  
  
 _Happy birthday to you~_

SpongeBob inhaled deeply and blew out the candles with such force that the eighteen fell backwards onto the icing of the cake, leaving an imprint of the number. Looking up, he couldn’t help the tears falling from his eyes and down his face. He was ready to start life as an adult. He was ready to prove the people wrong who thought he would never be anything more than a child. He was ready to prove Chaz and Jake wrong, he was ready to prove his own self-conscious thoughts wrong, he was ready to be who he wanted to be. And he wanted to be _SpongeBob SquarePants_.


	6. Compromising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Krabs introduces a new employee. SpongeBob recalls impactful moments from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some sexual scenes ahead.
> 
> Also, Spandy.

**~Chapter 6: Compromising~**

* * *

“Yer gonna find the job to be a cinch, Jacques,” said Mr. Krabs, walking down the street to the Krusty Krab, his arm around the fish. “I’m pleased ye found us. We’ve needed a third employee for a long time, but no one ever applied fer the job.”

Jacques was a pale fish, dressed in a tight black shirt that was tucked into a pair of skinny ripped jeans. His hair was shaved on one side of his head, and the rest of it had been brushed into a messy combover. His eyes were red and tired, and his face was fixed in a seemingly permanent scowl.

“Huh. Can’t imagine why,” he replied in monotone.

“Yeah. A janitor would do so much good fer this place. Me poor fry cook has to balance two jobs throughout the day. It’s driving him mad, and I desperately needed someone to fill in fer his janitor role.”

“So, uh, _how much_ will this job pay, again?”

Krabs’ eyes wandered, and he whistled, removing his arm from around Jacques and placing his claws in his pockets (they were custom-tailored to accommodate the width of his big, meaty claws). “Well, son, uh… it’s compl _er_ cated. Let me just introduce ye to the building first. That’s what’s most important.”

Jacques shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

The Krusty Krab came into view, and the two could hear faint sounds of whimpering coming from the building.

“Is that, uh, is that _normal,_ Mr. K?”

“Is what normal, lad?”

“That. The- the crying. Don’t you hear the crying? Am I goin’ crazy or sum’n?” He scanned his face. The older man seemed confused.

“Sorry, lad, I don’t hear it,” he chuckled. “Whatever it is, it probably _is_ normal. The place creaks and squeaks and leaks and everything else all the time. Hence why we need a janitor such as yerself.” He patted Jacques on the back.

They approached the front door, both stopping in their tracks when they caught sight of a yellow box shaking violently on the other side of the glass. It emitted groans of what sounded like pain.

“What the hell is that?” exclaimed Jacques, who nervously hid behind Mr. Krabs. He pointed at the thing with a look of terror on his face. “Bro, I can’t be working here if you’ve got hobos and shit livin’ up in here. Who _is_ that?!”

Mr. Krabs got closer to the entrance and squealed like a woman. “I… I think that’s me _frycook!_ ” He rushed over to the glass doors and pulled. They were locked. Clenching his fists, he let out a frustrated cry. “Hold on, SpongeBob, I’m coming for ye!”

Jacques got closer to the scene. He watched as Mr. Krabs, sweat pouring down his crimson red exoskeleton, pulled at the handles with a strength he’d never seen before. The crab’s thin arms became grotesquely buff and veiny, and with all his might, he ripped the doors from their frame.

Krabs knelt down by the sponge amidst the shattered glass and scooped him into his arms, which had returned to their naturally skinny state. He gently caressed SpongeBob’s form, stroking the boy’s cheek. The skin was hot to the touch, and the body convulsed beneath his fatherly hold. “SpongeBob,” he said, tone hushed. “What’s wrong, me boy?”

The pale yellow creature turned to face Mr. Krabs. The whites of his eyes were a light shade of pink and possessed snakey, jarring red veins. His blue irises were shrunken and his whole face was crinkled in anguish. No doubt he had been balling his eyes out for quite some time. A shaky breath escaped him, and he curled into a fetal position. “Mr. Krabs, please,” he squeaked. “Please, please, please.”

“Oh, my. This is worse than I thought.” Mr. Krabs got up and quickly scuttled over to a case in his office. He produced a hammer (from thin-air, I guess) and smashed the glass. Inside was an emergency Krabby Patty that had been preserved for months now.

“Mr. Krabs, what’s that?” SpongeBob asked as his boss knelt back down beside him. His nose twitched. _It’s a… Krabby Patty. But why?_

“Breathe in, boy. It’s the only thing I know your body will respond to,” he said more hopefully than he did confidently.

SpongeBob weakly inhaled, but turned his head away when he felt vomit rise in his throat. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t breathe in the pleasant scent of a Krabby Patty knowing he’d never be able to prepare one again. He felt his heart leap, and it leaped again, and again, and again, and got faster, faster, faster, until—

“YOU CAN’T FIRE ME, MR. KRABS, PLEASE!” he sobbed. “Oh, _barnacles,_ please.”

Mr. Krabs shushed him, placing a jagged finger (a crab claw finger) to his lips. “SpongeBob, me boy, I can’t have ye havin’ a heart attack on me premises. Bad fer business,” he chuckled gently, though the offended look on SpongeBob’s face wiped the smile off his own. “Sorry. ‘Twas only a joke, son.”

“You know what’s _not_ a joke?” SpongeBob hoarsely replied, abruptly sitting up. He got very close to Mr. Krabs’ face, grabbing at the man’s collar, and bringing him down to eye level. The sponge was leaking mucus and tears and vomit, but he could care less. “It’s not a joke how much you’ve hurt me today,” he said, and collapsed back onto his back, breathing heavily.

Jacques peaked his head around the corner of the mangled door frame, taking in the scene before him. The yellow fellow looked very familiar. Where did he know that guy from?...

“Mr. K!” Jacques said. “That’s the frycook?”

“Yes, lad,” Krabs replied, giving him a look like ‘of course it is’.

“Y-you want me to help? I mean—”

“Right now might not be the best time. Just go to me office. I’ll be there.”

As he was leaving the scene, Jacques turned to look at the sponge. There was something about that _weak, puny_ creature. There was something about how _stupid_ he looked crying like he was. Shaking the feelings, he turned away and went into the office, shutting the door.

“SpongeBob…” Krabs resumed petting the boy’s back. “Ye have to tell me what’s wrong, boy-o. What’s all this I’m hearin’ about being fired?”

SpongeBob rubbed his ‘lids with his palms, blinking and shielding his sensitive eyes from the sun. Everything was blurry. He really _had_ been sobbing. _Sobbing._ Like full-blown, body-racking, tears-that-look-like-water-hoses type crying. And why shouldn’t he? His livelihood was at stake. He had the right to scream and cry, he had the right to show emotion like a young child would— However! He was _not_ going to be _treated_ like a child.

He crossed his arms. “Mr. Krabs, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re playing stupid with me as if I have no idea what’s going on. Well, if I’m so stupid, you think I wouldn’t recognize the HELP WANTED sign in the GOSH DARN window?!”

“Calm down, boy, calm down. I don’t think ye understand.”

“Oh, I understand. I understand that you’re a great, big _jerk!_ You’re so greedy, Mr. Krabs, it’s like you can’t even see when your own hardworking, number one employee, ME, is trying to make this place sparkle and is giving his all. No, all you see is money! That’s all you _can_ see! It’s like your eyestalks are big sticks of- of money! Just burger-flippin’ money!”

“Boy, yer talking like a mad man. I told ye not to go loopy on me.”

“I will say what I wanna say!” he hollered, his throat sounding broken on the inside, as well as his soul. “I don’t wanna leave this restaurant. This is my _home_ . I _need_ to live here. I’m sorry about the tape! I’m so sorry, to Squidward, to you. You shouldn’t have had to hear that, Mr. Krabs. I couldn’t help myself. I’m in love with him! I wanted him with me, in me, and most of all I wanted him to _like_ me. But apparently in this world, getting off in your own home gets you FIRED! I’m sorry I couldn’t control my body, and my fingers, and my moans and I’m sorry you had to hear them and I’m sorry Squidward hates me and I’m sorry you feel like you should get rid of me forever. I’m sorry because I know you must truly HATE ME if you think that firing the BEST FRY COOK IN THE DEEP, BLUE OCEAN is the right thing to do!”

And SpongeBob screamed and screamed, at the top of his lungs. So loud that it shook the building (in that cartoonish way that screams do). He cried a puddle of tears that was big enough to wade in, and he tore chunks of yellow flesh from his head in despair. (Fortunately, his body regenerates.)

Mr. Krabs just sat there watching, unable to think of much to do or say. He shook his head. This was a lot to take in, and a hell of a lot of _SpongeBob_ to handle. Krabs was an older man, after all, it took time to process things. _Oh, it pains me to see him like this,_ he thought. 

When after a few more minutes the tears didn’t stop coming, Mr. Krabs got impatient and slammed his claws down upon SpongeBob’s shoulders, pinching them tightly, and ignoring the protests against it. “Boy, if ye don’t _hush up_.”

SpongeBob winced, going tense. Mr. Krabs sounded serious, like an angry father that was scolding his son and telling him to start acting like a big boy. He noticed his little crinkle-cut nose flaring and he took it as a sign to settle down, lest his boss unleash his bad side. “Sorry, Mr. K. I… I think something’s wrong with me.”

“There’s always something wrong with ye; that’s not new. What’s concerning me is the way ye have been acting lately. Ye’ve been so stressed and tired—”

“But—”

“No. Don’t deny it. Look,” he sighed, “Squidward approached me about this whole thing within the past twenty-four hours and it concerned me, it really did. The two even went so far as to find someone to fill in fer yer night shift position. His name’s Jacques, I’ll have ye meet him later. But we did this because we’re noticing a change in yer behavior and worth ethic, son. Yer a hard workin’ man, I value ye more than ye probably think I do, so know that. Know that I’m not mad at yer showin’ off. We just think it’s doing more harm than good.

“I’m not firing ye. That ‘help wanted’ sign in the window is to hopefully encourage more folks —who can handle minimum wage, of course— to seek work here. A mere two employees was never a good idea and I’m seeing it now more than I ever have before. Fer some reason, ye just seem like ye can’t handle the workload anymore. That’s uh, that’s my fault… Ye know me, SpongeBob, I’m a money addict. It’s an issue for me in the same way being a workaholic is an issue fer ye.

“And, er, about that, uh, that _tape_ , ye can rest at night knowing that I didn’t listen to it. Squidward got his p-nties in a bunch trying to get me to listen, but I respect yer privacy, lad. I refused. Yer a _man_ , SpongeBob, ye’ve got _needs!_ Ye’ve the right to handle yer little desires, so long as ye don’t do it in the Krusty Krab. I see nothing wrong with it. Hell, compared to some of the stuff I did back in me Navy days, yer a saint!”

“So you DO think I’m a saint?!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, sorry. You just solidified an argument that Squidward had with me a few days ago, is all.”

“Oh, uh, alright. But as I was saying, yer body is gonna cause you issues in life. Yer gonna have urges ye’ll have to fight, but in this case, ye didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll say one thing though, SpongeBob. Ye have to respect Squidward’s personal space. I know yer apparently crazy fer him and everything, and as much as I don’t give a hoot about Squidward’s complaints nowadays —Neptune, he’s always bitchin’ about something!— ye gotta respect the man’s wishes. If he doesn’t want ye touching him and courtin’ with him, then don’t. Nothing against ye and yer, uh… fruity lil’ self, but we do expect employees to respect the employee code of conduct. I thought ye yerself would know that better than anyone, boy-o.”

SpongeBob looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Krabs. It’s just- you know when you fall in love with someone and you try to change for them and stuff? I think that’s what’s happening with me. I think maybe I’m trying too hard.” He sighed, getting choked up again. “But nothing I ever do changes Squidward’s mind! I’m nice to him, and he gets _annoyed_ by it. I get on his level, and he can’t _handle_ it. W-what more can I do?”

“Sometimes ye can’t do anything,” Krabs replied. His sea green eyes looked distant, as if he was somewhere else. Somewhere far away. “Sometimes, no matter what ye do, nothing’s gonna change. I’ve accepted that in me life. I’ve accepted that Plankton’s always gonna be after me formul _er_. Now all I can do is constantly be at my ready. Yer always screaming how ready ye are, lad. Keep yerself motivated with that little catchphrase of yours. Be at your ready, no matter what comes yer way. Can you do that for me? Can ye do it for ol’ Mr. Krabs?”

SpongeBob rubbed his arms, suddenly feeling a chill. The water was warm but he was feeling a sense of coldness. Perhaps it came from somewhere within. “I don’t know…” he said, voice rough and at least an octave lower. Little tear droplets fell from the tip of his nose, creating tiny splashes on his arms that were quickly absorbed and disappeared back into his body. “I want to be with him. _So_ bad. _So very bad._ ”

Krabs frowned. “Well, what is it about him that you like? Lord knows I don’t see it.”

“I-” He paused. Explaining might be harder than he thought. He’d liked Squidward for as long as he could remember. _Where do I start?_ He groaned. “It’s a long story.”

“So are me riveting pirate tales, but I still tell ‘em, so just spill.”

“Well, here I go…”

So SpongeBob explained. He told of how he first met Squidward, how their _eyes_ met, how he looked at him way back when. Before SpongeBob started getting more comfortable around Squidward, the octopus had taken a liking to his bubbly personality and creativity. They had art club together on weekends back when the two were in their early stages of adulthood, and SpongeBob was the light that Squidward needed.

* * *

_“What’s that you’re drawing, Sponge?”_

_“Oh, nothing,” he replied, hiding the paper beneath his arm. He looked down at the smudged charcoal with a frown and sighed, lifting his arm that was now covered in the black dust. “Well, at least not anymore.”_

_“May I see it?” Squidward asked. Gently he lifted SpongeBob’s arms and revealed the drawing. It was a sketch of the two holding hands, smiling. Squidward couldn’t help but chuckle._

_“It’s stupid, isn’t it?”_

_“What? No!” He reached for the paper and held it up to the light to better see it. He scanned the image, taking note of how elegant the flowing locks of hair looked upon his head, and how ecstatic the sponge’s expression was, and how tightly the hands were being held. Then he noticed the many hearts that scattered the page._

_He and SpongeBob were hardly friends, just two people forced to come in contact with each other on Saturday afternoons at the local library during the summer. The tiny organ shapes were peculiar. “It’s… It’s nice. But, uh… Why all the hearts?”_

_SpongeBob slammed his face into the table, abashed. Another sigh fell from his lips. “I… I dunno,” he replied, voice muffled._

_“Are you embarrassed? Don’t be.” Jokingly, he swung his youthful blond hair over his shoulders, and posed with his tentacles behind his head. “I don’t know how you do it, but you make me look so_ good _. Is that how you really perceive me as, Sponge?”_

_SpongeBob looked up from the table, his cheeks on fire. “Yeah. Yeah, you look nice.”_

_“I don’t often say this, but you’ve got_ talent _, SpongeBob. You’re gonna make me wanna draw myself more often now. Damn, I’m fine!” He pulled a pen and a small mirror from his pocket and sat down beside the boy, choosing a piece of sketch paper from the stack before them, and immediately began to draw._

_SpongeBob looked over his acquaintance’s shoulder. “That, uh… looks really neat- it looks g-good,” he said quietly after Squidward had drawn for a few minutes._

_“You know, you can scoot in closer and watch me. I like an audience.”_

_“S-sure.” SpongeBob rested his chin in his palms and watched with fascination as Squidward replicated himself onto paper. The lines of his forehead were straight and the face lacked emotion —i_ _t was bland—_ _but in SpongeBob’s eyes, the sketch was perfect and full of life. “You’re good at this, Squidward.”_

_“Thanks, Sponge. If I’m being honest, I’m uh… a bit of a narcissist as well as an introvert. I don’t usually talk to people such as yourself, but your art is phenomenal. Maybe one day I’ll draw you. I draw myself too much, anyway. Hence why I mentioned my narcissism.”_

_“Really? Y-you’d draw me?” SpongeBob said, holding back from squealing. He felt honored. He hardly knew this man, thought he was cute, and now this same cute man was offering to draw him. Squidward might actually look over his spongey features —his big-toothed smile, freckled cheeks, and effeminate lashes— and produce them as art. Oh, it made him so giddy! “Oh, thank you, thank you!”_

_“Oh, it’s nothing really. Just blessing the world with my many artistic gifts.”  
_

(I used the word “Oh” three sentences in a row. Hehe. ♪ _O, O, O, O’Reilly. O’Reilly Auto Parts. Ow!_ ♪)

* * *

Mr. Krabs rubbed his chin. “So by what yer telling me, it sounds like Squidward didn’t mind yer comp _er_ ny back then?”

“Precisely, Mr. K. I had a crush on him and I think he knew it, but he didn’t _mind_ it. He invited me to sit with him during club and… oh my Neptune, he once even let me sit close enough to touch _shoulders_. And he ruffled my hair. I had hair back then, so did he. His was real hair, it was long and blonde, but you already knew that. Mine’s different, though. I don’t wear it out anymore.” He took his hand and rubbed the top of his head, causing spongy tufts of hair (seen in “The Sponge Who Could Fly”) to stick out from it at all angles.

Mr. Krabs chuckled. “Nice. So, uh, when did it all start going downhill?”

“Well, that’s a long story, too. A huge factor was when I moved in next door and started working here. But by then he had already lost interest in hanging around me. Apparently I started acting ‘unpredictable’ and ‘clingy’ and ‘annoying’.”

* * *

_“So, Squiiiiidward? Squidward, when are you gonna draw me again, huh?” SpongeBob asked, pressing up against the octopus’ side._

_Squidward looked over with a wavering smile on his face. “Eventually,” he replied between teeth. “Just… just stop talking, please.”_

_“B-but, but why?” He hung his head, his lip protruding like a pouty child’s would._

_“Because I need space, SpongeBob. Please! I’m sorry, but you’re getting to be too much, and I really have no desire for you to be over here right now. Just respect that.”_

_“Squiddy, no! W-wait. Hold on a second, let’s not make rash decisions, here.”_

_“Don’t call me that.”_

_“Ugh…” He got up and sat on the other side of the table._

_“Can you please move?”_

_“I- I did. Are you blind or something, Squidward?”_

_Squidward scowled._

_“Sorry, I… I won’t make rude comments like that again. Where do you want me to move?”_

_“Just… anywhere that isn’t here.” A large paintbrush he was holding fell from his tentacle and rolled off of the table and onto the floor, speckles of red and blue making the floor its canvas. When he shifted in his seat, his painting was revealed. It was all black, with an orb of white in the middle, and inside the white orb sat the silhouette of an octopus, who’s form was bent over, head tucked between its knees, and tears dripping from its eyes. “I can’t deal with this right now.”_

_“You want me to leave, Squidward? You want me to_ move _? FINE!” SpongeBob scooped up his art supplies, adjusted his jellyfish-themed fanny pack_ (headcanon: SpongeBob had a pink fanny pack when he was a young adult) _, and ran out the door in tears. Papers flew all around him as he rushed by the tables._

_One of the papers was the charcoal sketch, and Squidward watched as it landed on the table directly in front of him. He traced the smudge with his tentacle finger before setting it aside, perhaps feeling a bit sentimental. Of course, SpongeBob would never know this; the poor boy was already out the door._

* * *

“So, in my anger, I took the question literally,” SpongeBob said, looking a bit embarrassed to admit it. “He asked me to move, so I did. Right next to him. In that pineapple house of mine… My initial idea was to move somewhere far away where I could forget about Squidward, but when I learned that he lived right next to that open lot on Conch Street, I really wanted to be there next to him. I love pleasant scents, and when that sweet pineapple fell from the heavens, it was all the more reason for me to move in next door. I knew I had to claim the lot. Everything was just perfect.”

“But he told ye to leave him be,” said Mr. Krabs. “Living next to him is probably the worst thing ye could’ve done in that situation. I still don’t get it, lad. Were ye tryin’ to change his mind or something?”

“Yeah, I guess. I was thinking that maybe if I moved in next door, he would get over his hatred and grow to like me. But as you can clearly see, it’s been fifteen years and that still hasn’t happened.”

“Probably never will.”

A pang of sorrow struck SpongeBob’s heart, and he laid back onto the floor, feeling sick to his stomach. “Oh, Mr. Krabs, why does it have to be like this?” he whined. “All I wanted was to get to know him, and I wanted him to get to know me, and maybe like me, and have a crush on me, and take me home one night to take my clothes off, and to have him climb in a bed with just us two and some candles and roses and the smell of the pineapple and his ‘frilly soap’ as you called it. I wanted him to tell me he loved me and that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and to hold me close and play his clarinet until I fell asleep and awoke to our bodies pressed together tightly in the morning.”

“Yeesh. SpongeBob, that’s, uh—”

“I wanted him to love me for who I was. But he said he hated me. He said he never wanted to see me again. He still wishes he could be rid of me, every day. Every single day. When he first realized that I had moved in next door, he was so overcome with rage. It scared me.”

* * *

 _Squidward stepped out of his Eastern Island Head, hair frizzy and body clothed in a robe, with a mug in his hand that read “N O P E”. He sipped it nonchalantly. “Another day, another migraine.” He sat down in front of his house looking bored, his eyes fixed on the coffee he was sipping. He just sat there, drinking, just breathing in the morning air. That was, until he heard irkingly_ (new word, heh) _familiar laughter from across the street._

_He whipped his neck around to see the source of the noise. It was that little, yellow nuisance: SpongeBob SquarePants. He wondered what in the ocean that guy was doing there, stepping out of some furnished fruit that had spawned out of nowhere. ‘Probably fell from the sky,’ he thought._ (He wasn’t wrong. Watch “Truth or Square”. I know I made some changes to how the pineapple thing all happened, but, y’know… headcanons.) _He set down his mug and placed his hands on his hips, and called out, “Hey, private property, you know?!”_

_SpongeBob gasped and smiled. He was bent down, attending to some colorful flowers that were left over from the garden that Squidward had planted there. The pineapple had come down and crushed the others, and SpongeBob thought it was only right to care for the surviving blossoms. They stuck up, reaching for the sun, and when SpongeBob noticed his new neighbor next door, his hand stuck up, too, fixed in a wave for at least ten seconds._

_“Hey, Squidward! I just moved in last night. The realtor said that this lot was technically open, so, uh… sorry about the garden.” He shrugged and smiled, walking over to greet the octopus with a handshake._

_Squidward looked down at the open hand and refused to shake it. It wasn’t because the sponge’s normally squeaky clean hands were dusty with fresh soil, or because the whole_ fingers-wrapping-around-suction-cups thing _felt uncomfortable. Rather, he was simply not amused in the slightest by this little gesture of his. “SpongeBob, why are you here?” he finally said, after the sponge had shifted back and forth awkwardly for too long._

_SpongeBob let his hand fall back at his side and continued to smile brightly. Maybe the smile was a fake one, maybe not. Squidward wasn’t sure. “Well, I need somewhere to live, silly!”_

_Squidward grunted._

_“This is the perfect place for me to be. It’s cheap, it’s cosy, and it’s close to the Krusty Krab. I plan to start working there by the end of summer.”_

_Squidward’s eyes got huge, and if he hadn't set his mug down, he’d be choking on coffee. “At the Krusty Krab?!” he said with a bit of a voice crack. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no,_ no! _That’s where_ I _work!”_

_“Really?!” SpongeBob cried, bouncing up and down. “I had no idea. I just knew they were hiring. O.M.G, we’re gonna be COWORKERS! This is so cool. So Squidward, what’s your job there? I’m gonna try out for frycook.”_

_“‘Try out’?” he repeated, scoffing. “You act like you’re still in high school. Nobody calls it_ trying out _. You hand in your résumé and sign some papers and go through some sort of an interview or something. If you’re lucky, Mr. Krabs —my boss— will be impressed, and you won’t have to do nearly as much, but good luck with that, because_ my _getting in wasn’t so easy. He acts like a stoner when it comes to money. I had to_ prove _I could operate a register.”_

_“Oh, so you’re a_ cashier _.” He smiled._

_“Don’t say it like that,” Squidward hissed. “It’s nothing to be proud of.”_

_“But it is, Squidward! You get to make dollars into quarters, and take orders, and greet the customers with a friendly face.”_

_“Do you genuinely think that THIS is a friendly face.”_ (Cue a grotesque close-up!)

_“Well, right now not so much, but when the customers come in, don’t you—?”_ _  
  
  
_

_“This_ is _my friendly face.”_

_SpongeBob’s face dropped in a similar fashion, and he sighed. “Well, no worries then.” Squidward continued to glare at him, mouth creased in an upside down “u”. No further talk was being made, and the sponge felt antsy, adjusting his tie and searching for some words. “So, uh, is it hot out here or is it just me?”_

_“It’s just you.”_

_He bit his lip. “Look, Squidward,” he said reaching out to touch him, only to have his hand batted away by a tentacle. “Squidward, I know you’re upset and I know what you said about moving, but—”_

_“But_ nothing _! When I said move, I didn’t mean it_ literally _! Are you_ insane _? I hardly even know you. What the hell would make you think that this is a good idea? Just because someone doesn’t_ mind _your company doesn’t mean they_ enjoy _it. And if you think that by living here we’re suddenly gonna become best pals, then you’re wrong. You are very wrong.”_

_“I’m not insane. I just… I dunno. I’ve never really felt for anyone like I have for you before. I think you’re really good at art, and I really like to watch you create it! What did I do wrong? Why do you hate me all of a sudden?”_

_“I never said I hated you, SpongeBob, I just asked you to leave me alone. But then you go off and do something drastic thing like move next door. That’s completely opposite of what I so graciously asked you to do. All I told you to do was move.”_

_Squidward shook his head and turned to leave, heading back to sit on his front porch. There were tears in his eyes, but SpongeBob didn’t know it._

_“Squidward, please just give me a chance,” he said, chasing after him._

_Squidward sipped his coffee, little teardrops tainting the drink with a salty flavor. He could feel the presence of the sponge in front of him, his nuisance shadow hovering over his body. He looked up with red eyes, and he was met with SpongeBob’s own eyes, big and blue and glazed over with a wetness that was not of the sea. “It seems that you still can’t respect my wishes.”_

_SpongeBob just stood there like a toddler, crying and not speaking. His freckled cheeks, the freckled cheeks that Squidward had painted earlier that summer, were hot with embarrassment and pain. Pain of the heart. His thick lashes glistened in the sunlight, batting furiously as they fought against the onslaught of sentimental liquid. His lip was trembling furiously, as if he had so many things to say, but none seemed worth saying._

_It was his first time being rejected._

_“So,” Squidward said, gripping his mug tightly, “you’re crying, too.”_

_“YES! YES, I’M CRYING!”_

_“Don’t f-cking yell at me, goddamnit!”_

_It was the first time Squidward had cursed at him since they’d met._

_SpongeBob shakily stepped back, whimpering. In a quiet voice, he said, “Please don’t use s-swear words at me.”_

_“No! You just_ screamed _at me, so you should know exactly what it feels like. Obviously you spend your life in lalaland thinking you can do and say whatever you feel like doing and things will turn out alright. But_ barnacles _are you wrong.” He took a shaky breath and continued. “Man, I’m struggling right now and I really can’t deal with this, I hope you know that. We were chill until you started acting all clingy. I came to the art club to clear my mind, to relax, to escape from the world. Then you came along and now I don’t get peace there, either. What is your problem, man? Why don’t you get it?”_

_The sponge kept his mouth shut._

_Abruptly, Squidward got up and in one swift motion slammed his mug down upon the porch. The white ceramic shattered and the pieces flew out in all directions, floating through the water. “BARNACLES!” he hollered up at the sky. He shoved the sponge off of his walkway and pointed at the pineapple. “Just go back home! Go get in that RIDICULOUS house of yours and stay off of my f-cking property. We’re done here. If you’re fortunate enough to even get to work at the Krusty Krab, don’t talk to me. EVER.”_

_And with that, Squidward turned away, unkept blonde hair swishing around his shoulders. He crouched down on the porch, back turned to the world, looking strangely like the silhouette in the white orb that he had painted not long ago._

* * *

“So that’s that. That’s how I blew my chance at ever getting closer to Squidward,” SpongeBob said with a sigh. “That’s also how I screwed up my reputation in the art club. The folks in there saw me storm out of the building and they all started joking about me being ‘childish’ and ‘unsophisticated’ when I finally returned. I also got blamed for the reason Squidward quit the club, and rightly so, I guess.”

Mr. Krabs squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Sounds like you and Squidward have a long history.”

“We do.”

“So you’ve been struggling with unrequited love for _fifteen years_ , hm?”

“Basically, yeah. I mean, there _were_ times where I took a break, if you wanna call it that. I had a bit of a crush on Sandy back when she first came to live down here. We dated for almost half a year and kept it on the downlow, so nobody really knows about it except for Patrick and now you. It was just a fling; it didn’t go very far. The night she first wanted to get, uh, _intimate_ is when I realized, I uh…”

“You were hom _er_ sexual?”

“Mr. Krabs!”

“What, boy? It seemed like that’s what was comin’.”

“It’s- It’s fine. Frankly, I prefer to call myself bisexual. Or, is it bi _romantic_ ? I’m not sure. All I know is that I was able to love Sandy like a girlfriend, but I wasn’t ready to please her. But when I thought of naughty things in bed, all I wanted was Squidward’s long, slippery, _squirmy_ tentacles inside my—”

“Boy-o!”

“Sorry, Mr. K.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Just continue.”

“Okay. So the relationship with Sandy offered me temporary escape from my feelings for Squidward. Early in the dating, I genuinely felt like I was going to be able to forget about him, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. I just couldn’t feel for Sandy like I wanted to. I _wanted_ to make her happy. But I just couldn't.”

* * *

 _“Golly, SpongeBob, y'all are looking_ mighty _hot.”_

_“Oh, haha,” he forced a laugh. “The temperature in this dome must be like ninety degrees or something.” He adjusted his tie, looking red in the face._

_Sandy chuckled. “Not even close. I invented a cooling system for the weather in here not long ago. Y’all are just embarrassed! I was talkin’ ‘bout how good you look in your suit, silly.”_

_“Gee, you really think I look good?”_

_“Darn tootin’. I ain’t seen a creature as fine as yourself since Texas. Lots of snazzy squirrels up there, but ain’t none compare to you, SpongeBob.”_

_SpongeBob smiled, his teeth sticking out all goofy-like. He was clad in a fancy black dress suit with a pure white shirt beneath. The outfit was complete with a pair of shiny black shoes (his normal ones) and a bright red tie (also one of his normal ones)._ (What can you say? He had to go cheap with the accessories; Mr. Krabs wasn’t paying him jack.)

_One thing he wasn’t wearing was his water helmet. Sandy had worked countless hours when they first started dating to ensure that he could interact with her without restriction. He downed a small pill, and for the next few hours, he’d be able to tolerate air._

_Sandy was dressed in a thin, lavender dress that was shoulderless and cut off right below the upper thighs. It showed off the bit of curves that she had, and really accented her figure. There was even a little hole in the back for her tail to stick out._

_Sandy turned around, tail swishing, and led SpongeBob to the picnic table that had been decked out in tiny candles._ (Finally, some logical fire underwater, am I right?) _A small banquet was set out for the two, a sort of dinner date. There were “exotic” Texan foods like barbecue and chicken fried steak. Set out for SpongeBob, there were tasty seafoods. Plates of fresh, green algae and seagrass were among the choices._

_SpongeBob sat down across the table from his girlfriend and looked down at the food. He poked a peculiar-looking food that was piled up in a dish. It was curly and purplish and had… “SUCTION CUPS!” he squealed. “Ew, ew, Sandy what_ is _that?!”_

_“It’s calamari, silly. Ain’t ya ever had calamari before?”_

_“C-calamari? Y-you mean, as in… octopus?” he squeaked._

_“Heck, yes! That stuff’s delicious, and being a sea critter, I thought you’d like i- Oh,” she paused. “You’re a… sea critter, and therefore you… I screwed up.”_

_“No, Sandy, no. It’s okay. You didn’t s-screw up anything,” he said, frantically waving his hands around. He hated seeing her upset. “It’s just… It reminds me of…”_

_“I know, SpongeBob. And I’m sorry. You know what, let’s toast. You can toast to forgetting about that ol’ grumpy, pain in the neck and move on. Come on, let’s eat one.” She smiled._

_SpongeBob smiled back. A weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Sure.”_

_They both reached into the bowl and picked out a juicy tentacle._

_“To moving on!” declared Sandy._

_SpongeBob raised his tentacle to clink her’s. “To moving on…”_

_Sandy opened her mouth wide and dropped the tentacle inside, chewing fiercely with those large, squirrel teeth of her’s. She may have been dressed like a lady, but she certainly didn’t possess the manners of one. SpongeBob could care less._

_SpongeBob was getting a little, er,_ silly _with the calamari to put it cleanly. As much as he hated to think it, and though he had no intention of admitting this to Sandy, he didn’t think he was going to be able to move on from thoughts of Squidward. He’d known Squidward for well over a year, and to just drop his feelings for him like *snap!* that didn’t seem immediately possible. While Sandy was busy stuffing her cheeks with the tentacles, he decided he wanted to play with them. He decided he wanted to know what it felt like to fool around with a_ tentacle _in his mouth._

_He placed the tentacle on his tongue and dragged it across the top of it, coating it with saliva. It tasted pretty good._ Greasy. _He liked grease. He twirled his tongue around the suction cups, placing his lips around the treat and started sucking it. It was thick and tender. Thick and tender like Squidward’s-_

_“SpongeBob!”_

_“Yipe!” The tentacle fell from his lips and he immediately went red-faced._

_Sandy placed her hands on her hips, and her expression was stern. “What in tarnation were you just doing?” she cried. She leaned over to the table to glare into his dilated pupils._

_“Sandy, I- I can explain,” he said, his leg shaking beneath the table and his heart racing._

_“Well then do it. ‘Cause I ain’t gettin’ on with the night until you explain what the hell that little act you were doing was? Whatever it was, it didn’t look right.”_

_SpongeBob tugged at his collar. “I dunno.”_

_“You_ don’t know _?”_

_“I was just eating a little sloppy, is all. What’s the big deal? I didn’t see_ you _using any sort of manners, so why should I?”_

_“SpongeBob,” she groaned. “That’s not what you were doing.”_

_“Sandy, I’m telling you, that’s all it was!”_

_“So eating sloppy looks like sucking somebody off?!”_

_“I wasn’t!”_

_“Well you sure_ looked _like you were goin’ to town on that piece of food.”_

_“Well I wasn’t.” He crossed his arms, face still burning. “Let up, will you? I’m not a pervert.”_

_“Fine, SpongeBob, be that way.”_

_The night went on, and things calmed down significantly. After dinner, some flirting, and a romantic comedy high school host club anime, the two found themselves up in the tree, in Sandy’s bedroom. They were seated on the edge of her bed, shoes kicked off and set in a corner, talking quietly. It was dark outside, and the room was illuminated by a couple of bright lamps._

_“SpongeBob, I want to talk to you,” Sandy said, leaning partially over the carpet with her hands under her chin. Her brows were creased and there was a little twinkle in her hazel eyes from one of the lamps._

_The sponge’s heart skipped a beat and he looked over at her. “Uh, s-sure, Sandy, you can tell me anything.”_

_She inhaled. “SpongeBob, I love you. I_ really _do. I love you more than a cold glass of lemon squeezings on a hot summer day. But I don’t think y’all are feeling the same way about me. Maybe we’re doing somethin’ wrong, y’know?”_

_“I… Sandy, it’s my fault,” he replied, voice breaking. “For some reason I just can’t be a man. I can’t make you happy. ...I’m a terrible boyfriend!”_

_“Aw, shucks. Ya ain’t terrible, you're just inexperienced. Maybe it’s me. I’ve been with a few men in the past, so maybe I’m expecting too much of ya. Back in Texas, I dated many a squirrel, but I never really found ‘the one’. When I first got to Bikini Bottom, I never dreamed of pursuin’ a relationship with a sea critter, but then you came along, and well…”_

_“You fell in love with me,” SpongeBob said in a whisper. A tear fell from the tip of his nose._

_“Don’t cry, now.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Ain’t a reason to cry, Sponge.”_

_“Yes it is. I’m not stupid. I get it, you’re implying you wanna break up. Fine. Just do it already. Go ahead, I can handle it. I’m a sponge. I can take it.”_

_“What?!” she cried, squeezing SpongeBob harder, more passionately. “That’s not what I meant at all. I… I was wondering if you wanted to take this relationship to the next level.”_

_SpongeBob looked up into her eyes at that statement. He noticed the hurt look on her face and felt stupid for having taken her words the wrong way. He put his arms around her, returning the embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m so neptunedamn dumb all the time. I’m naive.”_

_“Ain’t that the truth!” she chuckled, sniffling._

_“To the next level, huh? You mean like—”_

_“Sex? Yes.”_

_“Barnacles, Sandy, I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”_

_“Sure you are. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”_

_“Really, Sandy, I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m young, I’m a sponge, I’m embarrassed, I’m weak, I’ve never done this before, I still haven’t lost my vir—”_

_His eyes went wide. Sandy’s lips were firmly pressed up against his face, and her tongue was begging to part his soft lips. He gave in awkwardly, allowing her to enter his mouth. Her tongue wriggled against his, but he barely put up a fight._

_She pushed him onto the bed so that he was beneath her, and straddled him with her legs, cowgirl style. Beneath her dress, she wore a thin pair of panties, and she grinded herself against SpongeBob’s crotch as she continued to kiss him deeply._

_His eyes were shut tightly and he just let things happen. He had no idea how to do what she was doing, and was unaware of what exactly she wanted him to do. SpongeBob had seen a couple graphic videos in the past that he was quite fond of, but when it came to real-life experience, he was a complete and utter virgin._

_Sandy broke the kiss, letting out a small chuckle when she felt SpongeBob thrust clumsily. “C’mon, Sponge, y’all can do better than that!”_

_“I told you,” he said, blushing, “I’ve never done this before.”_

_“All ya gotta do is rub on me and let things go from there. Just do what your body tells you to do.”_

_So he tried. He moved his lower half in rapid motions, jerking upwards and swiveling his hips, causing the fabric of their clothes to create friction that Sandy seemed to like. He observed her face contorting from gentle smiles into mischievous smirks. She put her arms around his head, and she kissed him again. They’re teeth struck and they yelped._

_“Doggonit, SpongeBob!” she said with a hiss._

_“Hey, I’m not the one who’s doing all the kissing.”_

_“Maybe if you kissed back, it would be easier.”_

_SpongeBob let out a little sigh and pulled Sandy’s face into his, kissing her. It was a pretty lame kiss, no tongue, but he was aiming not to bump teeth again._

_Sandy paused the action and began to strip SpongeBob of his fancy clothes. She removed the tuxedo, pulling off the jacket and then tugging the white undershirt over his square head. Next, she pinched the sides of his pants and yanked them down, lifting her weight off his body so she could slide them all the way off._

_She continued to dryhump him, feeling for a bulge beneath his briefs. There wasn’t one. “C’mon, you gotta get into it.” It was fun finally getting to have her way with her boyfriend, but something wasn’t quite working for her. “...Um, SpongeBob. Why don’t I feel your- y’know. Your dick?”_

_“Sandy!” he gasped, flustered. “I didn’t know that word was a part of your vocabulary!”_

_“What can I say? I’m a different girl in bed. But really, are you not turned on or somethin’?”_

_“Oh, I… No, I’m aroused, alright, it’s just… Sponge anatomy is- well, it’s different. You came down here to study sea creatures. You should know that better than anyone else.”_

_Sandy sounded a bit offended, and they stopped thrusting for a moment. “What do you mean I should know that better than anyone else? I do know that, I- Of course I know that, uh…” She facepalmed, defeated. “Fine, you got me. You are like the only critter I haven’t really done much study on. ‘Cause y’all are my friend and boyfriend, and I don’t see ya as a test subject like I do some of the other folks down here. So go ahead. Lecture me, Sponge.”_

_“Well first of all, I don’t have a penis,” he whispered the word, as if what he was currently doing with Sandy was somehow less taboo. “I could grow one if I wanted to, but it wouldn’t pleasure me so much as it would pleasure you. It’d be like a third arm or leg. I feel pleasure through my pores. If you want me to get, uh, turned on, then you have to play with my pores. That’s uh…. That’s how I get off. Also, sponges possess both male and female components. I’m an intersex creature. If I wanted, I could identify as either male or female, but my parents decided they wanted a boy, so they assigned me the male gender on my birth certificate.”_

_“So you’re not a true male?”_ _  
  
_

_“Not technically.”_

_“Wow. That explains the long eyelashes and the peculiar gay things you do, hm.”_

_“Well, the eyelashes yes, but my sexuality, I’m not so sure. I feel like even if I was one hundred percent man, I’d still have gay feelings. So, I mean, I guess you’re right. I consider myself a bisexual, so it goes along with what you’re saying, yeah.”_

_“I don’t know why, but just thinking about you getting dominated by some tough man is really turning me on. Oh, you’re so submissive.” She smirked, walking her fingers up his exposed chest._

_“Imagine a threesome with Squidward. Heh.”_

_She froze. “Ew, hell no! There you go with the Squidward talk again. I don’t want to hear his damn name again, SpongeBob._ Please _.”_

_“I was just joking.”_

_“Yeah, but the fact that you mentioned him at all means you were thinking about him. That’s more disgusting than worms in an apple, SpongeBob!”_

“Sorry _.”_

_“I bet you were fantasizing about him while I was humpin’ ya!”_

_“But—”_

_“That is so gross, SpongeBob!_

_“I said I was sorry, Nep-damn.”_

_Sandy frowned, crawling off of his body and sitting beside his legs. “You don’t want this, do you?” she said, voice cracking. She’d been the dominant one all night but suddenly she was the one who sounded weak._

_SpongeBob sat up. “No. I don’t. And I’m sorry.”_

_SpongeBob didn’t think he’d ever seen Sandy look more hurt in that moment. She didn’t even look angry. She looked heartbroken. He watched her eyes well up with tears and spent the next half an hour comforting her, telling her that it wasn’t her, it was him, and that he was sorry, and that he was young and stupid, and that she deserved better. He hugged her and kissed her cheek and explained to her with great difficulty and awkwardness that they should probably just go back to being friends. She agreed, and afterwards, he left and went to Goofy Goober’s to get drunk off his ass and cry._

* * *

“The whole situation just tore me apart, Mr. Krabs. The Krusty Krab was my only escape. I somewhat got over breaking Sandy’s heart but quickly started crushing on Squidward again. Honestly, I think obsessing over someone you can’t be with isn’t any healthier than being with someone you’re not interested in.”

“You know, you make an interesting point,” said a gruff voice, peaking through the office door. “Heh, nice hair cut.” (He was talking about the spongy hair that SpongeBob revealed to Mr. Krabs earlier.)

Mr. Krabs looked up and lightly gasped. “Great Davy Jones! I’m sorry, Jacques, I completely forgot ye were in there, son. Come on out, join us. I thinks we’re mostly done talking. Right, SpongeBob?”

“S-sure, I guess.” He turned to look at the fish who was approaching them. He hadn’t gotten a very good look at him when he first walked in the door, but now that his eyes were dry and he could see clearly, he looked him up and down. He crossed his arms, trying to look tough as if he hadn’t just balled his eyes out. _Who IS this_ _guy?_ he thought, a snarl on his face.

Jacques sat down in front of the two, his large boots making a thud when they hit the ground. “The name’s Jacques,” he said, refusing to make eye contact with the sponge. “Who the hell are you?”

Mr. Krabs seemed unfazed.

“I’m SpongeBob,” he replied. He was already getting a vibe from this guy that he _did not like._ “I’m the fry cook here at this establishment. I’ve been here for over fifteen years. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“Ha. Well aren’t _you_ the hardworking type.”

“Yes, yes I am. If you’ll notice the _hundreds_ of employee of the month awards that we have on the wall.” He gestured towards the back wall that was littered with picture frames boasting SpongeBob’s proud smile.

“Huh. Okay.” He squinted. “Who’s that guy?”

“What guy?”

“The- the blue guy. Top left corner. He’s got a few.”

“Oh, that’s my coworker, Squidward. He only has those very _few_ awards because I hadn’t come along yet.”

Mr. Krabs smiled. “And lucky for me, ye did, not long after.”

“So,” SpongeBob continued, “why are you here?”

“What, Mr. Krabs didn’t tell you? I’m here to take over your night shift duties as well as your job as janitor,” he said matter-of-factly.

“No, he told me alright. I just wanted to know what specifically you’re here for.”

“Well I told you.”

“Yeah, I get that.” A cartoony, evil smile formed on the sponge’s usually soft face. “Oh, and by the way, janitor is a shitty job so I hope you’re up for it. Being a sponge, it was nothing I couldn’t handle, but for you, well, you better hope you don’t get those designer jeans of yours dirty. With the way things are here, you’ll be lucky enough to be able to purchase clothes from _Barg’N-Mart_.”

“Maybe that’s how things are for you, man, but I’m getting paid extra. Ain’t that right, Mr. K?” he chuckled, running his fin through his hair.

SpongeBob’s mouth hung agape. “Mr. K?” he echoed. “B-but… only _I_ call him that.”

Mr. Krabs sheepishly smiled, standing up and brushing off his pants. “Well, Jacques, that would be the case, yes. SpongeBob, lad, I’m doing this out of desperation. We _need_ a third employee, and I’m paying him extra to keep him here, at least for now. Ye’ve already dem _er_ nstrated to me that ye’ll work for free if it means staying here, SpongeBob, so I can’t compr _er_ mise an opportunity like this one.”

SpongeBob stood up, too, feeling his blood boil. “So that’s how you wanna play it, huh, Mr. Krabs? You’re gonna use MY LOVE FOR MY JOB against me?! You _know_ I’m a workaholic, so why would you do this?! This isn’t right!”

“This is in yer best interest, boy.”

“Yeah, your best interest,” Jacques repeated.

SpongeBob pushed passed the two and swung open the front doors. “Fine! If that’s how it’s gonna be, then **I quit**!”

_I quit!_

_I quit!_

_I quit!_

The words resounded in Krabs’ head and the old man felt as though he was going to pass out. The last thing he saw before hitting the floor was SpongeBob’s prized spatula, discarded in the corner of the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it’s half a novel long now! This is the longest story I’ve ever written, and there’s still more to come. Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Also, I hope I portrayed Sandy as accurately as possible. :)


End file.
